The case of the academic abduction
by Mimulus
Summary: Ida Greene's humdrum life as a servant in a boarding house is disrupted by the arrival of some unusual guests...and she finds herself drawn into an investigation that's going to change her life forever. NOW COMPLETE!
1. Chapter One

Two pairs of boot clad feet clattered on the stairs. Ida stood up from where she had been kneeling to clean the skirting board, and stood with her back to the wall, eyes fixed firmly on the floor. The two men passed her in single file, without a glance.

'I wish you'd let me publish, Holmes…'

'Watson, we've been through this…'

'…but surely by now word has spread! It's not as if you've not been active. And this latest case…'

The man who had been speaking trailed off. Ida's eyes flicked over to the pair, now outside a door a little way down the corridor, just in time to catch the warning glance the taller man had given his companion. She quickly dropped to her knees once more and resumed her scrubbing.

Ida gave no further thought to the matter until later that evening, when she and Prudence were peeling the potatoes for dinner. The pair of them made up the entire staff of Mrs Beech's Boarding House in Keswick, and although Prudence was technically her superior in the hierarchy of servitude, they were good friends. And it was Prudence who brought the subject up

'Do you have any idea how long those gentlemen in rooms 4 and 5 are staying?' she asked, tossing another potato onto the finished pile.

'No,' Ida looked at her, 'why?'

'Well, Mrs Beech told me that Mr Holmes – he's in room 5 - said his room was not to be cleaned. He was most particular about that…'

'Really? Well, less work for us, eh?'

'Yes. But earlier this afternoon, I went in there by mistake. I mean, I'd got into the habit of cleaning all the rooms… And…' Prudence hesitated. Her voice had taken on a conspiratorial tone, and Ida's imagination started to generate all sorts of lurid possibilities,

'And what?' she prompted her friend, 'what did you see?'

'He's got a _dog_ in there!'

'A dog,' repeated Ida, her interest evaporating.

'Yes! A beautiful bloodhound…But no wonder he didn't want Mrs Beech to find out…'

'Mmm hmm,' said Ida, not really paying attention

'…but it's a disgrace, isn't it? Keeping a dog shut up in a room in a boarding house?'

'Yes, I suppose it is…'

'I've a good mind to tell Mrs Beech, you know…What do you…'

The peal of the doorbell cut the conversation short

'I'll get it,' said Ida, wiping her hands on her apron.

The man standing on the doorstep did not resemble Mrs Beech's normal clientele. His clothes were filthy, although, as Ida took a second, more detailed look, the suit had originally been expensive. His footwear, though entirely unsuitable for country walking looked as though it had carried him along many a muddy footpath, and one shoe appeared to have lost its laces. But it was the open cut on his forehead, with its trail of dried blood down onto his eyebrow, and the fiercely hostile gaze he fixed her with which made her draw back in alarm.

'Stared enough?'

'I…' she gaped, floundering for a reply

'Is this Beech's Boarding House?'

'Er…yes…Are you…?'

'I'm here to see Mr Holmes.'

'He's…'

'…here.'

finished a male voice. Ida spun round, to see the tall, lean, dark haired man from earlier descending the stairs

'Holmes?' exclaimed the man on the doorstep, shoving past her to stand at the foot of the staircase,

'I see you've had a difficult journey Mr Grimshaw,' continued Holmes. 'That wound's not too serious I trust,'

'Holmes, there's no time…'

'…very well.'

Holmes reached the bottom step, and looked down at Mr Grimshaw, his expression inscrutable. Then he stepped to the floor, and walked briskly to the door, which Ida was still holding open.

'I won't be taking dinner tonight, Miss…?'

'…Greene, sir. Ida Greene…'

'Miss Greene. I'd be much obliged if you would tell the good doctor that I've gone to tie up a few loose ends…'

'As you wish, sir…'

He nodded curtly, then turned to Mr Grimshaw with an expectant look. The strange man shook himself, then barged past Ida again, and hurried down the front steps to the street, Holmes following close behind.

Ida slowly closed the front door, and leant against it on the inside.

'Ida?' called Prudence from the kitchen, 'Ida, who was that?'

'Oh, just someone for Mr Holmes,' she called, trying not to let the unease she felt creep into her voice. She made her way back into the kitchen, where Prudence looked at her questioningly.

'A man to see Mr Holmes,' she repeated. 'He left with him, said he wouldn't be back for dinner...'

Prudence tutted, looking at the glistening pile of newly peeled potatoes,

'these spuds won't eat themselves…'

'No…' murmured Ida in reply, still lost in thought.

'And I bet he left that poor dog behind…'


	2. Chapter Two

An avalanche of soot spilled onto her apron. 

'_Damn_!' she exclaimed, dropping the lighted taper she had been using to try and light the kitchen stove.

'Damn and blast it…'

She stood up, back aching, and drew a grimy hand across her forehead. The iron stove's open front door seemed to be mocking her, and she kicked it shut with a clang. Heading over to the sink, she picked up a damp rag to wipe her face, and surveyed the sunrise which was just beginning to transform the amorphous shadows of night into the familiar mountains she knew and loved.

The street immediately outside was deserted. This was a time of day known only to farmers and scullery maids…

…the front door slammed. Startled, Ida stared uselessly in the direction of the sound, then looked back out the window in time to see a man heading purposefully down the street, a dog trotting along in front of him.

'…Dr Watson?' she thought aloud, craning her neck to get a better view, but the man turned into a side street and was lost from sight.

Ida drummed her index finger three times on the steel basin of the sink, trying to contain her curiosity. She picked up the rag as if to start cleaning once more, then tossed it down again. Then, just as she caught sight of Blencathra's familiar form on the skyline, the decision was made. Pulling off the mob cap which had been holding her hair off her face, and dragging the strap of her apron over her head, she made for the door.

Even mid August was chilly at this hour of the morning, and Ida had begun to wish she'd taken the time to put on a coat and hat. But she had managed to catch up with the doctor enough to keep him within sight. He seemed to be letting the dog lead him, and the pair of them were headed towards Derwentwater.

_Probably just out for an early morning stroll_, she told herself, beginning to feel more than a little daft for this spur of the moment decision. If it took much longer then she wouldn't be able to get back in time to finish lighting the fires before Mrs Beech woke up, and _that_ would not be pleasant.

She paused, biting her lip, in indecision. Ahead of her, the doctor turned into a small lane, which she knew led to open countryside. It would be much harder to follow him through fields without being spotted, and it would also be hard to explain the mud which would no doubt end up spattered all over her skirt. With a sigh, she resigned herself to ending the little adventure, and, feeling rather foolish, she turned to retrace her steps.

Suddenly, a ferocious barking ripped through the early morning stillness, and a man's voice shouted

'What? Oh…' and cut off abruptly. Without thinking twice, Ida turned on her heel once more, and ran towards the sound.

As she entered the lane, at first Ida could see no sign of Doctor Watson or the dog. Bewildered, she stopped, and stood for a moment catching her breath. Then a movement off to her left caught her eye. A man was standing in the ditch, only visible from the waist up, whilst the bloodhound trotted on the roadside, chasing its tail.

Ida approached, cautiously. The man knelt down in the ditch, so that all she could see was his hat, which she recognised

'Dr Watson?' she called, hesitantly

He didn't seem to hear her. As she drew near, the dog bounded up to her in greeting. She patted it vaguely, distracted by the strange scene before her.

'Dr Watson?' she asked, more loudly. She heard him exclaim

'Oh, thank heavens!' but it was clearly not in reply to her.

'Holmes!' he called, his voice torn with anxiety, 'Holmes, can you hear me?'

This was altogether too puzzling to hold back. Ida strode towards the ditch. As she came within a few feet of the edge she gasped in astonishment.

In the bottom of the ditch, where the doctor knelt, lay a man. His clothes were so caked with mud that he was almost camouflaged against the soil, but for the pale, lean, unmistakeable face…

'Mr Holmes?' Ida said, incredulously. Dr Watson at last seemed aware of her presence, and raised his head.

'Is he…?' her lips couldn't help but form the question, though her mind was paralysed in shock.

'No,' said the doctor, too preoccupied to question what she was doing there, 'but we need a stretcher.'

'Right,' said Ida, still staring uselessly, 'right, a stretcher…'

A faint moan brought both their attention back to Holmes

'…Watson…'

'Holmes! I'm here…Don't try to talk. I think your ankle's certainly broken, and…'

'…excellent diagnosis…doctor….' his voice was faint, and punctuated by heavy breathing,

'Holmes, for pity's sake, just stay still, we'll get help,'

'…Watson…I'm not at death's door just yet. If you'll just…help me out of…this decidedly less than…agreeable …predicament, then...'

Holmes started to drag himself up into a seated position. The doctor grabbed his arm,

'Holmes, will you listen to me for once, you're in no state to…'

'_Watson_!' he spoke forcefully, which brought on a coughing fit. The doctor's consternation was palpable, but he stayed silent until Holmes continued, 'Watson, there's no time to lose…'

'…for what, Holmes?'

'Grimshaw.'

'Grimshaw?'

'Yes, Grimshaw!' he repeated, irritably, 'We have to find him!'

'Holmes, please stay calm,'

'Calm? Watson! We're wasting time! I must examine the scene…I must…' he made as if to try and stand upright, and shifted the position of his leg slightly. With a cry of agony he fell back into the ditch.

Watson turned back to Ida,

'We need that stretcher,' he said, decisively.

She nodded, and turned to head back towards the town, her mind spinning. But as she set off, at a steady jog, she kicked a small object on the lane's dusty surface which tinkled metallically. Something made her pause, and scan the road. A flash of reflected sunlight caught her eye, and she bent down to pick up a silver cufflink. She stuffed it into her pocket for want of anything else to do, and continued on her mission.

* * *

A/N 

Thankyou very much for your kind reviews, Hermione Holmes and BaskervilleBeauty, I hope you like this second chapter!


	3. Chapter Three

'Just lying in the ditch?' repeated Prudence, her eyes very round

'Yes,' confirmed Ida, for the third time.

'What _can_ have happened?'

The kettle started whistling on the stove, as the water reached boiling point. Ida grabbed a teatowel to protect her hands and went to remove it.

'And you went and got help?' Prudence continued,

'Yes,' said Ida, simply, 'I was going to go and find one of the mountain rescue lads, but as luck would have it, Mr Jacobs was passing along the road in his trap just as I came back into town,'

'Aah! So _that's_ why I was woken by hoofbeats at 6 o clock this morning!'

'You should have been up anyway!' exclaimed Ida, in mock disapproval,

'Hah, well, as it turned out I did have to light all the fires…' Prudence reminded her,

'…Yes….er…sorry about that…'

Ida's reluctant explanation was cut off by ringing of one of the bells which were positioned above the kitchen door,

'I'll go,' she said quickly, glancing at the still vibrating bell, 'Room 5, wasn't it?'

………

Outside Holmes' room, Ida paused for a moment, then knocked, calling

'You rang, sir?'

She clearly heard footsteps on the other side of the door, then it swung open to reveal Dr Watson.

'Ah,' he said, 'it's you. I never got a chance to thank you properly, did I?'

'I…' Ida stared uncomfortably at her boots,

'Well, thankyou. And Mr Holmes is also very grateful…'

'….Watson!' a voice interrupted from inside the room, 'I'd thank you for not letting that howling gale of a draft in through the door any longer…'

The doctor rolled his eyes, and gestured for Ida to come inside.

'Holmes,' he said, 'this is the girl who…'

'…Not now, Watson, I'm trying to tell you…'

Ida stood with her back against the inside of the bedroom door, looking at the room out of the corner of her eye whilst ostensibly keeping her gaze respectfully fixed on the skirting board of the opposite wall. Holmes was lying on the bed, his head propped up on two pillows. A livid bruise was now obvious on his left temple, and from the bandages visible round his upper arm above the bedsheet it seemed as though he had been pretty badly beaten up. But although fatigue was obvious in his voice, it had an acidic edge which had not been present earlier that morning.

'…Watson, every moment that passes, precious evidence is being lost! Herds of cattle are no doubt rampaging down that lane as we speak!'

Ida opened her mouth, but then thought better of commenting. Dr Watson was radiating exasperation,

'You still haven't explained to me what happened, Holmes. What was Grimshaw doing here? Where were you going? Who did this to you?'

Holmes' face took on a noticeably pained expression

'I…don't know,' he grudgingly admitted.

'You don't know who did this?' repeated Watson, in surprise

'I was most certainly not expecting it.'

'No, of course not, but surely you have _some_ idea?'

'I know that Grimshaw hadn't told us everything…'

'…but you said that his case was closed!'

'Did I ever use those exact words?'

'Well…no…but…'

'Grimshaw is involved in something far, far greater than the trifling matter which was originally brought to our attention. He barely knew what he was getting himself into, and now he…he is in grave danger.'

'But you can't mean…?'

'…I fear for his life.' said Holmes, with utter seriousness. 'The gang who came upon the pair of us in that lane last night seem to have kidnapped him. Which is why it is imperative that we…' he paused, then, with an air of resignation continued,

'that _you_ go and examine every inch of that lane for some sort of clue.'

Dr Watson opened his mouth as if to protest…then sighed, and nodded slowly

'Very well,' he said.

He turned away from the bed, and went to the desk which occupied the space beneath the room's single window. Both men seemed to have forgotten Ida's presence.

'…Um…Doctor?' she asked, 'what was it you wanted?'

'Oh! I do beg your pardon!' he said, turning, 'Now, why did I ring…'

Ida waited patiently while he mused, then 'Ah!' he exclaimed, 'I thought that Holmes should have some breakfast,'

'That won't be necessary,' interjected the man himself

'Holmes, you must eat…'

Ida looked, confused, from one to the other, as a battle of wills commenced.

'Perhaps,' said the doctor, to no one in particular, 'some tea would be acceptable?'

Ida took Holmes' silence as assent, and, inclining her head briefly, she turned and left.

………

'Tea, sir,' Ida announced, as she balanced the tray on her knee with one hand, whilst using the other to turn the door handle. She heard no response, but stood upright and pushed open the door with her foot anyway.

Holmes was still lying in the bed, staring at the ceiling, oblivious to all around him. There was no sign of Doctor Watson. Ida entered the room, and set down the tray on the bedside table, letting the teacup and saucer clash together just a little more loudly than they needed to. Holmes' gaze slid over to her.

'Thankyou,' he said, hollowly. Ida bobbed a half hearted curtsey, and asked

'Shall I pour you a cup?'

'No.' He returned his eyes to the ceiling once more.

'Is there anything else, sir?'

'No.'

Ida curtseyed again, deliberately taking her time, and with as sardonic an expression as she dared. He seemed to be taking no notice, anyway. But as she headed for the door, something she had pushed to the back of her mind suddenly re emerged, with new significance. She shoved her hand into the pocket of her skirt. Yes, there it was…

'…Sir?'

'Yes?' Holmes' voice held a trace of irritation now

'Begging your pardon sir, but I think I've found something that might interest you…'

She returned to the bedside, hand outstretched, the silver cufflink in her palm

'I picked it up on the road this morning. I don't know if…'

'…give it to me,' interrupted Holmes, propping himself up on his right elbow and reaching out with his other hand. His eyes seemed suddenly alight.

Ida handed it over,

'It's probably not important, but I just thought…'

Holmes waved at her to be quiet, holding the cufflink right up to his eyes.

'…can't see a thing in this light,' he muttered.

Ida went wordlessly to the window and pulled back the curtains, which had been half closed. Holmes gave her a surprised, yet gratified glance.

'I don't suppose, Miss…'

'…Miss _Greene_, sir,' Ida re informed him,

'Miss Greene, yes, I don't suppose that you could fetch me the magnifying glass that's in that suitcase over there?'

Ida went to the corner of the room, where a large leather suitcase was resting on its side,

'It's not locked,' said Holmes. 'The magnifying glass is tucked down the side of the pile of clothes…'

Ida gingerly opened the suitcase, to reveal a pile of shirts, some underclothes and several brown cardboard boxes, tied up with string. She noticed some writing on the boxes which read 'University Museum,' but the rest was obscured.

'Have you found it?' asked Holmes, impatiently. Ida thrust her hand down the side of the pile of shirts, and her fingers closed around something smooth and cold.

'Yes,' she said, pulling out the magnifying glass. He seized it, and began examining the cuff link in minute detail.

Ida hung back, not wanting to leave, but not sure whether she was expected to stay.

'…H…F…' he said aloud, 'hah! Now we're getting somewhere! Tell me, Miss Greene, do the initials H F mean anything to you?'

'H F,' said Ida slowly, racking her brains. The only name which sprang to mind was that of Horace Fortescue. He was the eldest son of William Fortescue, one of the biggest local landowners. In fact, now that Ida thought of it, the Fortescues were probably Mrs Beech's landlords. But…Horace Fortescue? Could he really have been one of Holmes's assailants?

'…Miss Greene?' asked Holmes once again, 'the initials?'

'…All I can think of is Horace Fortescue…' she answered, 'He's…'

'Oh, I know who he is!' cried Holmes, 'oh, now we're _definitely_ on the right scent…'

'I'm afraid I don't understand, sir…'

'…how do you know the name Horace Fortescue?'

'…I…' she floundered. He fixed her with a penetrating stare,

'…Miss Greene, _lives_ are at _stake_…'

'…He's the son of Lord William Fortescue…' Ida said, hesitantly. Holmes seemed to be waiting for more, so she added 'They live in the big house down on the lakeside…They own lots of land in the town… I, um…sometimes talk to their kitchen maid if I see her in the town…I…'

Holmes raised a long, bony finger to silence her

'The kitchen maid?'

'…Yes…' said Ida, uncertainly,

'Hmmm.' Holmes steepled his fingers over his chest and looked keenly at her.

'Miss Greene,' he began, 'I wonder if I could impose upon you to assist me in this investigation…'

'…investigation?' she repeated, staring stupidly

'…an investigation into…well…as a starting point I suppose it is an investigation into the disappearance of Mr Grimshaw…'

'…Mr Grimshaw…'

'…who visited this boarding house last night.'

'Yes, I remember,' said Ida, glad to return to something more familiar, 'he was missing a shoelace…'

'...You noticed that, eh?' asked Holmes, smiling ever so slightly. 'Yes, Mr Grimshaw. Now, I have reason to believe that Horace Fortescue has something to do with…'

'…hang on,' interrupted Ida, 'now wait a minute, H F doesn't _have_ to mean Horace Fortescue, it could mean any number of…'

Now Holmes really did smile.

'Miss Greene, I do believe your assistance will be invaluable.'

'Mr Holmes, I…'

'…over there, on the dressing table, you will find Watson's notebook. In it he has recorded an account of the case which led us here, to Keswick. I believe that if you read that things will seem a little clearer. He does have an unfortunate tendency to over dramatise what is a purely rational sequence of deductions, but…'

'…Mr Holmes, what are you asking me to do?'

'…You are under no obligation to do anything, Miss Greene. But please, read the notebook. Then perhaps you would be willing to carry out a little…surveillance…in a good cause?'

Ida stared at him in puzzlement. Holmes simply went back to examining the cufflink. Exasperated, she went over to the dressing table and picked up the rather tattered notebook. She had to admit the whole thing was very intriguing. Slipping the notebook into the pocket of her apron, she left the room.


	4. Chapter Four

It wasn't until after she and Prudence had prepared lunch for all of Mrs Beecham's guests, served said lunch in the dining room (Holmes refused the offer of a tray in his room, and Ida wasn't going to press the issue), and washed up all the plates afterwards that Ida could snatch a moment to have a look at the notebook. She had taken the tablecloth from the dining room into the garden – supposedly to shake out all the crumbs – and once right at the bottom of the garden, out of sight from the house, she could hang the tablecloth over the branch of a gnarled old apple tree, and sit at its base to peruse the doctor's scribblings.

_It was in the year of 1895, a year which you, my reader, will come to see in time was to have a singularly high frequency of cases relating to matters of academia, that the relative tranquillity of 221b Baker Street was shattered by the arrival of an elderly gentleman in a state of great agitation. We were first aware of his arrival by the frantic hammering on the front door, which was audible even on the first floor. Mrs Hudson went to open it, and within under 30 seconds footsteps pounded up the stairs and a white haired man, coatless and hat askew, burst through the door into Holmes and my living room. Clearly unused to such exertion, he was very much out of breath, and I went at once to assist him into a chair._

Ida looked up from reading the handwritten page, which was quite difficult to decipher, to check she was still unobserved. Satisfied, she bent her head to the page once more.

_A good few minutes later, seated in a chair with a glass of water at his elbow, our visitor seemed in a fit state to tell us of his plight._

'_Mr Holmes!' he began, in tremulous tones which, nonetheless, betrayed the distinctive vowel sounds of the well bred,_

'_Mr Holmes, I do beseech you…'_

_Holmes carefully laid down his copy of that morning's Times, and gave the stranger his full attention._

'_I take it there were no cabs at Paddington. Strange for this time of day, you have been most unfortunate, Mr…or should I say, Dr…?' he raised his eyebrows questioningly, inviting our guest to supply his name,_

'_It's _Professor_ Hayes sir…but…how…?'_

'_I take it that this matter is urgent, Professor Hayes, kindly continue with your explanation…'_

_The professor seemed rather put out by this, and opened and shut his mouth a few times distractedly whilst his eyebrows knit closer and closer together. But at last, he seemed to overcome his frustration, and burst out._

'_There has been a robbery…scandalous…unprecedented…'_

'…_and you are the victim, sir?'_

'_Yes!...And…no… It was the property of the university of which I am a member, but…on a personal…an intellectual level…I feel the loss most keenly…'_

'_I see.'_

'_You were recommended to me by a colleague – a Mr Soames – who said that discretion was your specialty…'_

_Holmes glanced over at me, and I knew he was recalling, as was I, the case of the Three Students._

'…_Deduction is my speciality,' said Holmes, levelly, 'but I am very discreet.'_

_The Professor glowered at my friend, then looked with equal hostility at myself._

'_Professor,' said Holmes, 'pray continue…'_

_The elderly man exhaled loudly, and his eyes became, if possible, even more bulbous._

'_Some very valuable specimens have been stolen,' he proclaimed at last, 'from the university museum.'_

'Ida!' someone was shouting her name. Flustered, Ida stood up, stuffing the manuscript back into her pocket.

'Ida, where are you?'

Prudence was standing on the doorstep of the back door, scanning the garden. Hurriedly, Ida seized the tablecloth and headed back towards the house.

'What were you doing?' asked Prudence, clearly annoyed. Ida gestured vaguely with the tablecloth. As she reached the back door, Prudence took it from her

'I need you to go into town for me,' she said. Ida pulled a face. 'I was going to clean the bedrooms this afternoon,' she said, 'Mr Holmes…'

'I'll clean the bedrooms,' said Prudence, firmly, 'I need you to go and buy some sugar.'

Ida sighed. It was no good protesting, especially since she had in fact been slacking. She went to fetch her hat and coat.

….. ….. …..

Ida found that if she secreted the doctor's notebook inside her shopping basket, using the packet of sugar to keep it open at the right page, then by holding the basket against her stomach and walking with her eyes cast demurely downwards, she could continue reading the doctor's account.

'_You have my condolences, sir,' said Holmes. 'Might I enquire as to the nature of these specimens?'_

'_Some very rare fossils…'_

'_Fossils,' repeated Holmes. There was no sarcasm in his tone, but our guest was of a most prickly disposition,_

'_I did not come here to be mocked, sir!' he exploded. At this, Holmes simply raised his eyebrows, infuriating the Professor still further,_

'_Palaeontology is _

She suddenly found herself shoved to one side. Stumbling, she dropped her basket, which rolled along the pavement.

'Can't you look where you're going?' someone exclaimed, peevishly, then muttered 'Idiot girl…'

Ida dropped to her knees, scrabbling to pick up the pieces of paper which had fluttered out.

'Sorry, sir,' she said, distractedly, without paying attention to whoever it was she had unwittingly walked into.

'And you damn well should be,' came the voice again. Ida did not look up.

'Look at me when I talk to you!' She suddenly felt a sharp pain as someone grabbed her hair from behind.

'Leave it, Horace,' came another man's voice.

Horace! Ida gasped in dismay. She had cannoned into none other than Horace Fortescue! The need to retrieve the doctor's notes was now all the more urgent…But the tugging at her hair forced her to leave the papers and stand up, slowly. The pain was making tears prick in the corner of her eyes, but she willed herself not to cry out.

'I said leave it!'

'This has nothing to do with you, Clarence.'

Someone grabbed her elbow, hard. The pressure on her hair was released, and she was forced to turn around. Gulping, she kept her eyes fixed on the stone slabs of the pavement.

'Look at me, girl!'

Ida slowly raised her head, hoping that her eyes betrayed her fear rather than her suspicion. She met the young man's hostile gaze and held it for a second. His eyes narrowed.

'I'll have no insolence from a serving maid!' he exclaimed, suddenly, raising the hand which was not gripping Ida's arm. Ida flinched, involuntarily…

'That's enough, Horace.'

A second young man stepped forward, grabbing Horace's arm before he could strike her. Ida found herself released, as Horace turned to the other in anger

'I've had it with your interference, Clarence…'

Ida held her breath, not daring to move in case the pair who now stared each other down came to blows. But the moment passed, and Horace, with a gesture of dismissal, turned on his heel and stalked off.

'Please accept my apologies, Miss,' said Clarence, bending down to pick up her basket.

'My brother has been in a foul mood all morning, you were unfortunate to get in his way…'

'Your brother?' exclaimed Ida. She had known of course, that William Fortescue had more than one son, but she had never seen this young man in Keswick before.

'Yes.' He gathered up the papers, then stood up. 'Here,' he held out the basket and papers, 'I'm afraid that half your sugar's spilled all over the pavement…'

Ida sighed. That would certainly be coming out of her wages.

'…perhaps…perhaps you might accept a replacement as a small gesture of apology?'

'Replacement?' repeated Ida, confused,

'I'm sure we have plenty of sugar in our kitchen at home. Perhaps I could have some sent over to your house?'

'Er…yes…' said Ida, 'thankyou…' then she suddenly had an idea, 'or perhaps I could come and get some now? To save time? We do need the sugar rather urgently, you see…' she blinked a couple of times, knowing that tears were still welling in the corners of her eyes, and sniffed for good measure.

'Of course!' exclaimed Clarence, his expression full of concern 'we'll go right away! And I can't tell you enough how sorry I am…'

As they headed up the road, Ida quickly folded up the pages which had come loose and tucked them, with the rest of the notebook, into her pocket. The notebook did seem significantly slimmer, and she hoped that not too many of the pages were missing. Mr Holmes would probably take a very dim view of the case notes being scattered all over Keswick, at the feet of Horace Fortescue no less. Not to mention what the doctor would say at the loss of his hard work. But her concern over this was tempered by the anticipation of where she was going. A chance to explore the Fortescure mansion if she played her cards right. What she was looking for, she still had no idea. But this was too good an opportunity to miss

* * *

AN: Thanks loads to everyone who reviewed! I'm glad you like it so far, and sorry for updating at irregular intervals...(am supposed to be revising for exams which isa real pain)... I'd be interested to know what people think about using Dr Watson's notebook to explain the backstory...does it work or is it annoying to have two stories running simultaneously?


	5. Chapter Five

As they neared the imposing lakeside manor that was the Fortescue residence, Ida began to feel decidedly less adventurous. For one thing, Clarence was leading the way right up to the front door, when she would have far preferred to simply go in the tradesmen's entrance. The whole point of her plan was to be able to slip into the house under the anonymity of servitude, but Clarence seemed to be – unwittingly – doing his best to scupper that.

'I don't want to cause any fuss,' said Ida, 'if you could just tell me how to get to the kitchen door, then…'

'It's no problem,' said Clarence, 'it's really the least we can do…'

'…but…' Ida paused, deliberately hanging back, 'what if your brother is here?' She congratulated herself inwardly on this piece of quick thinking.

'That…is a good point…' admitted Clarence. He turned to her, and gave a bravely reassuring smile, 'but I'll make sure he doesn't do anything…'

Ida looked away so that he didn't see her roll her eyes.

'I'd really feel…more comfortable…just going to the kitchen door,' she mumbled, looking at her boots. Clarence gave in,

'If that's what you'd prefer,' he said. 'This way…'

… … …

'Cook?' Clarence called, as they stood in the doorway of the kitchen, 'Cook?'

A large, sour faced woman wearing a mob cap and a stained apron appeared. Her face was bright red from exertion and the heat of the stove

'Yes?'

'This is Ida Greene, from Mrs Beech's boarding house. We owe her some sugar.'

'Some sugar.'

'Yes, some sugar. Could you?'

'Amelia!' shouted the cook, still staring suspiciously at Ida, 'Amelia get out here!'

Amelia was the kitchen maid whom Ida had met before. She relaxed slightly, and turned to Clarence,

'Thankyou very much Mr Fortescue,' she said, 'I'll be alright now.'

'Are you sure?'

'Yes,' she said, firmly, willing him to go,

'I can't tell you again how sorry I am…'

'It's quite alright Mr Fortescue, really.'

'Will you be OK to get back to the boarding house?'

'Yes, Mr Fortescue, I'll be absolutely fine.'

'Well. If you're sure?'

'Absolutely sure. And thanks again.' Ida bobbed a brief curtsey. Clarence seemed almost embarrassed by this, and gave the merest nod of acknowledgement before turning to leave.

'_Amelia_!' the cook shouted again, hoarsely. 'Where _are_ you, girl?' She stomped off, and left the kitchen by one of its many doors, still shouting.

Ida smiled to herself at this piece of luck, and stepped inside the kitchen properly. Although a large room, with numerous tables and work surfaces, no other servants seemed to be present. As she got within two yards of the stove the heat hit her like a wall, which reminded her to remove her coat. Opening a door at random she found a stone flagged passageway. Another revealed a pantry, and yet another, a cupboard with some aprons hanging up. Stuffing her coat and basket in there, and pulling off her hat, she seized one of the aprons and put it on. Then it was the work of but a moment to find a mob cap in which to hide her dishevelled hair.

Her heart beating furiously with excitement and fear, she stepped back into the kitchen, all the time expecting the cook to return. She hurried over to the door which had led to the passageway and slipped through.

With each step along the stone floor, her adrenaline rush ebbed away, and she found herself wondering exactly what had possessed her to try this. It wasn't even as if she had finished reading the doctor's account of the mystery that had afflicted Professor Hayes. She hadn't the faintest idea what she was going to do, other than simply nose around the house. Part of her wanted to turn round and head back to the kitchen, take some sugar, and be on her way…

'Hey, give us a hand, will you?'

She spun round, eyes staring wildly in panic, to see a young man in a footman's uniform stumbling out of a door, carrying an armful of men's shoes. She gazed at him in stupefaction for a moment, then stepped forward to grab a couple of the leather loafers which were threatening to slip off the pile.

'Thanks,' he said, panting slightly, 'heavier than they look after 2 flights of stairs…'

'Where are you going with them?'

He gave her a quizzical look

'I'm new,' she said, hurriedly,

'Oh, thought I didn't recognise you. Well, I'm just taking them out the back to scrape off the worst of the mud before polishing them. I don't know how they manage to get them so filthy, you know, not like any of them ever do a tap of work…'

His voice tailed off as he realised Ida wasn't listening. She was staring instead at the shoe in her hand. A very muddy shoe which lacked a lace. A shoe she was almost certain she had seen before.

'This shoe's missing a lace,' she said, in a slow voice

'Yeah,' said the youth '_another_ thing to fix... Young Mr Fortescue certainly gets through his shoes…'

'Mr…Horace…Fortescue's shoe?' said Ida, looking up at him

'Yes, Mr Fortescue's shoe,' repeated the young man, with raised eyebrows,

'How do you know?'

'Because it was outside his room! How else? …Look, Miss…I can't stand here all day…'

'Right, right…of course,' said Ida, still lost in thought.

'So, could you give me back the shoes?'

'Oh, sorry…' Ida thrust the shoes back onto the pile in his arms.

'Thanks…Miss…?'

'Call me…um…Prudence,' she said.

'I'm Eddie. Well, nice to meet you Pru.'

'Likewise.'

………

3 flights later, Ida was out of breath. She sat down on the top step of the narrow servant's staircase to think. No one seemed to be around, so she pulled out the notebook from her pocket. Perhaps from here she could gain some clue to help her make sense of what was going on.

As she flipped through the pages, Ida's heart sank. They were all out of order, and it looked like at least a third were missing. Sighing, she skim read through the pages until she found a mention of a name she recognised…

'_I have 4 students, Mr Holmes,' said the Professor, as he took out a bunch of keys and proceeded to unlock the inner museum door,_

'_Mr Fitzwilliam, Mr Smythe, Mr Grimshaw and Mr Cole. And I am well aware that one of them would seem most likely to be the culprit…'_

_Holmes made no reply, and gave no indication as to whether or not he was of that opinion. The Professor turned the key in the lock, and flung open the door with a flourish_

'_Gentlemen, I give you the Natural History Museum of Oxford University…'_

_As we entered the huge room, I let out a soft gasp of admiration. Before us lay the main gallery of the museum, filled with glass fronted cabinets, but my eyes were drawn irresistibly upwards, to gaze at the balcony gallery which lined the walls of the first storey. The whole place gleamed: the sunlight which poured in through the high windows glinted off the marble pillars. Some bare brickwork betrayed the fact that the building work was not entirely complete, but… _

Ida cast the page aside in frustration. She had no time for university museums, she needed to find out what Grimshaw had been up to. She took up another sheet…

_But Holmes was examining the ammonite in minute detail with his magnifying glass. Then, having finished squinting at the ripples on its surface, he sniffed it thoughtfully, and pronounced:_

'_This, gentlemen, is no more a genuine ammonite than Watson here is the king of Bohemia.'_

_Professor Hayes bristled with indignation_

'_I think you'll find, sir, that I am the expert on these matters!'_

_He reached out a hand, to take back the specimen, but Holmes lifted it aloft._

'_Mr Grimshaw!' he called, to the young man who was standing at the other end of the library, staring over at us, 'catch!'_

_Professor Hayes and I stood, aghast, as Holmes tossed the ammonite over our heads, towards the waiting student. He stumbled forward, hand outstretched, but the fossil brushed against the tips of his fingers and smashed on the floor._

'_Mr Holmes!' exclaimed the Professor in outrage, 'have you any idea…'_

_But Holmes had crossed the room in a few strides, and stooped to gather up some of the broken shards._

'_Plaster!' he announced, 'It's made of plaster! Ccome and see for yourselves!'_

_Professor Hayes and I hurried over, in time to see Holmes turn to Grimshaw and say,_

'_So, Grimshaw? I thought you said you were a cricketer…'_

_The look which Grimshaw gave my friend was enough to turn milk sour._

'_Gentlemen,' said Holmes in a low voice. 'I do believe that's everything…'_

Ida paused in her reading. She stared into the middle distance trying to make sense of it all. These strange words which seemed to be of such importance: 'ammonite', 'fossil', 'palaeontology' meant nothing to her. Something had been falsified, that was clear, a fake version of something valuable had been substituted for the real thing. And Grimshaw was clearly in it up to his neck. But this Professor Hayes character didn't really engage her sympathy…

All of a sudden she heard footsteps on the stairs below. She sprang to her feet, crumpling the pages of the notebook once more into her pocket. At the top of the servant's staircase was a choice of two doors. She picked the one on the left, and hurried through.

The corridor in which Ida found herself was far more sumptuous than the one she had left. It was nearly three times the width, and the walls were lined with flocked wallpaper in a deep maroon pattern. As she shut the door behind her, she noticed that it too was wallpapered, so as to blend almost seamlessly into the background.

The other doors in the corridor were on a much grander scale, with polished brass doorknobs that gleamed. This gave Ida an idea.

Taking out her pocket handkerchief, she went over to the nearest door and proceeded to rub the doorknob vigorously, bending her head down low as if to examine her handiwork, but in reality trying to manoeuvre her eye into a position to see through the keyhole…

…Ida felt the doorknob turning beneath her hand. She sprang back, just as the door swung slowly open, and stood, head lowered so that her chin was almost touching her chest, praying that she looked a generic enough servant so as not to arouse suspicion.

'Girl?'

A nasal female voice that demanded obedience cut through Ida's mind like a knife. She found her back straightening and her shoulders moving back of their own accord. She even raised her head, but not so as to meet the woman's eye.

'Yes'm', she said, on autopilot.

'The flowers on my windowsill are in a simply _dreadful_ state.'

'Yes'm,'

'Get rid of them. Don't put any fresh ones in yet, I'm waiting for this year's roses.'

'Yes'm,'

Ida curtseyed as the woman swept past her with a rustle of silk, then raised her eyes to look at the door directly in front of her. She had better do as she was told.

………

Ida spared little attention for the luxurious bedroom which she entered, instead hurrying straight over to the window, where a large bouquet of rather drooping flowers was displayed. She could smell their slightly musty scent as she gripped the bunch with one hand. But before she removed them from their vase, a movement in the garden outside caught her eye.

The bedroom was on the second floor, so the lawn was quite some way down. But clearly visible, as she pressed her nose to the glass in excitement, were the figures of two men, strolling along the grass. The taller of the pair, who was walking slightly behind his companion, was recognisable even from this distance as Horace Fortescue. And the other…the other man, who was walking with a slight hint of a limp, almost the sort of gait one might expect of someone wearing decidedly ill fitting shoes…the other man, who walked slightly in front of Horace and who was smoking a cigarette…he was the man who had come to Mrs Beech's boarding house the previous night. He was Mr Grimshaw.

Ida stared at the pair of them in confusion. Were they, then, friends? Had Grimshaw been aware of the plan to ambush Holmes? But as she observed the men, she saw Horace stop suddenly. Grimshaw, oblivious, continued walking forward, and Horace grabbed his arm. Grimshaw flinched visibly. With Horace maintaining the grip on his arm, Grimshaw was frogmarched in a tight circle so that the pair of them now faced back the way they had come. Then Horace released him and they began their slow procession once more.

Her mind spinning with the significance of what she had seen, Ida turned away from the window. She caught a glimpse of the clock on the mantelpiece, and gasped in shock. Half past five! Reality hit her suddenly, Prudence would be serving the tea and wondering where she was. She wrapped the wilting flowers in her apron to stop them dripping on the carpet, and hurried out of the door.

* * *

A/N:

Thankyou all so much for your reviews! And yes, I'm British, so that's how I do spell palaeontology! It's a fair point that Holmes seems a bit soft - in my hurry to get Ida actually involved in the mystery perhapsthe characterisation wasn't great...or maybe you can put it down to Holmes' concussion! Hopefully in the next few chapters you'll see a better version of Holmes. And apologies for the delay in posting this chapter, I had some ideas for some later chapters and just had to write them down…which meant I ended up getting a bit ahead of myself.

And yes, I do love writing conversations, I can never seem to manage to pull offlong descriptive passages (as you might have been able to tell from the way I copped out of describing the museum...sorry...), so I tend to just get straight in there with some dialogue...

So, anyway, once again thankyou very much to everyone who reviewed. And I'll definitely post the next chapter soon.


	6. Chapter Six

It was gone six o clock when Ida burst into the kitchen at Mrs Beech's boarding house, out of breath from running most of the way back. But the exhilaration of her adventure dulled any feeling of fatigue, and she rushed straight through to the hallway, desperate to share what she had discovered with Holmes and Watson…

'…decided to make an appearance, then?'

Ida skidded to a halt, and turned to face Prudence. She was standing at the foot of the stairs, carrying a tea tray. Anger radiated from her eyes.

'I…'

'Where the _hell_ have you been?'

'Prudence, I'm sorry, I…'

'I sent you out for the sugar _four hours_ ago!'

'Prudence, I'll make it up to you, really I will, but…'

'You know how much work this place is, Ida…'

'…I do, of course I do, and I didn't mean…'

'Ida, I really thought we were friends…'

'…of course we are!'

'…but nevertheless, consider this your last chance.'

'…what?'

'Do something like this again and I'll tell Mrs Beech. And you'll be out of a job.'

Ida stood, speechless, for a few seconds.

'I don't like to do this, Ida,' said Prudence, and there was a tremor which threatened tears in her voice, 'but…'

'…is that tray to go up?' Ida interrupted, harshly.

'Yes, to Mr Holmes's room…'

Ida took it from her, and wordlessly mounted the staircase.

………

At the door to room number 5, Ida took a few deep breaths to calm herself down, then called

'Tea, sir,'

She was preparing to execute the usual balancing act in order to open the door, when the door swung open to reveal Dr Watson.

'Good evening, Miss Greene,' he said

'Good evening Doctor. Is Mr Holmes awake?'

'Yes. Come in.'

Ida entered the room and set the tea tray down. She turned to face the bed, where Holmes was sitting up. She couldn't help but notice that the cardboard boxes she had seen in the suitcase were spread out in front of him.

'Mr Holmes?'

He didn't respond, instead continuing to examine a small object which he had in his hand.

'_Mr Holmes_!' Ida burst out, unable to contain herself, 'Mr Holmes, I must tell you, I've been to the Fortescue house, I've…'

He looked up, fixing her with a stern glare,

'You've been to the Fortescue house?'

'Yes, and I…'

'Miss Greene, explain yourself. From the very beginning…'

'…but…'

'…Miss Greene, tell me _exactly_ what happened to lead you to the Fortescue residence.'

'But sir, I…' Ida's words died away in the fierce attention of his stare. She took a deep breath and tried to gather her thoughts.

'This afternoon…I went out to get some sugar…'

As Ida proceeded to outline the events of the afternoon in as much detail as she possibly could, unable to meet either of their eyes as she described dropping the doctor's story at the feet of Horace Fortescue, Holmes' expression grew more and more serious. At least twice she thought he was going to make some exclamation, but instead he only sighed heavily. This wasn't the reaction she had been expecting, and as she neared the end of her narrative she was speaking almost apologetically. When she finally reached the end, she stood, shuffling her feet and waiting nervously for Holmes' response.

He tilted his head back so that the crown of his head rested against the wall behind the bed, and stared at the ceiling. Then, slowly bringing his gaze back towards Ida, he looked along his nose at her and said

'Miss Greene, that is the most…childish…display of play-detective work I have seen in a long time.'

Ida stared at him, speechless.

'Your little adventure today has done _nothing_ to further this investigation, and potentially a great deal to harm it.'

'But Mr Holmes, I…'

'…when I gave you the doctor's notes, did I tell you to do anything other than read them?'

'No, but I…'

'I realise I was lax in that I did not impress upon you the necessity to keep that particular document _out_ of the hands of the very man we suspect, but I did credit you with a _little_ intelligence…'

'...Mr Holmes, I'm sorry about…'

'…No, _I'm_ sorry. It was a huge error of judgement on my part to involve you. Pray, return what remains of the doctor's notebook, and…'

He swung his head forward to meet her eyes directly

'…be sure to steer well clear of this affair from now on. Under _no_ circumstances return to the Fortescue house. That would put both you and the continuing investigation in grave danger. Do you understand, Miss Greene?'

Ida gulped, feeling sick. Anger and disappointment churned in her mind.

'_Do you understand_?'

'I understand.'

Ida pulled the notebook and the crumpled loose pages out of her pocket and threw them onto the coverlet of Holmes' bed. She turned to Doctor Watson

'I am sincerely sorry about losing some pages of your story, Doctor.'

He nodded his acceptance, and gave her a wan smile, though his eyes remained serious.

Sniffing, Ida turned back to face Holmes.

'Will that be all, sir?' she asked forcefully

He made no immediate reply, so she turned on her heel and marched to the door, letting it slam behind her.

… … …

Her vision blurred by tears, Ida began to descend the stairs, when a sudden idea struck her. Clenching her teeth, and almost enjoying the masochism of it, she crept back towards room number 5, and pressed her ear to the door. She might as well hear the worst of what they had to say about her.

'What were you playing at, Holmes? Involving a young girl like that! She was in very real danger…'

'She was a damn fool.'

'Well…now, she was very brave…'

'No, Watson, she was very stupid. But so was I. I should have had more foresight.'

'…you couldn't have predicted this, Holmes…'

'…no, but I could have predicted that she was an impulsive, impetuous, irrational…'

'…female?'

'Precisely.'

There was a pause. Ida glared furiously at the floorboards. Then Watson spoke again,

'Still, we do know that Grimshaw is being kept prisoner, Holmes, shouldn't we contact the police?'

'Oh, of course Grimshaw's being kept prisoner at the Fortescue house,' said Holmes, irritably, 'that much was obvious from the cufflink and your description of the scene…'

'…well, if you say so…but anyway, shouldn't we…?'

'This isn't just about Grimshaw, Watson. Nor Horace Fortescue. There are higher intellects than that behind this affair...'

'…well, I'm sure you're right, but…'

'We cannot hope to bring them to justice if we are too…crude…Watson. For now, I think it best if Grimshaw remains a prisoner. I do not believe he will come to harm…'

'…are you sure? After all, if it was this Horace who was behind the attack on you, then…'

'Watson, this case has been jeopardised enough by Miss Greene's antics. Please, just do exactly as I say.'

'Very well, Holmes.'

There was a long silence. Ida shifted her crouched position slightly, and wondered whether it might be best to make a move, when all of a sudden there was a crash from inside the room

'Holmes! What the devil…?'

'It's all _wrong_, Watson!'

'Holmes, those are very delicate! And they aren't even our property, it's one thing to chuck your violin about, but…'

'Leave it, Watson.'

'Hang on…I'll check if…'

'It's a fake, Watson.' His voice betrayed a bitter sort of weariness.

'Holmes?' said Watson, incredulously,

'They're all faked.'

* * *

Thanks for the reviews of chapter 5 guys, I've managed to get my act together to post this one a bit quicker than last time, hope you enjoy...


	7. Chapter Seven

Her eyelids felt strangely like shortbread dough. Warm – just like after it was kneaded - faintly greasy and softly solid. She smeared her fingertips outwards, stretching the skin, then , reaching her temples, she let her knuckles bend and dug her fingernails in hard.

'Ida?' Prudence's voice intruded onto her gloomy reverie. She scraped her fingers back through her hair, wincing as she caught at a tangle,

'What?'

'I think there's someone at the door…'

Ida looked across the kitchen table to where her friend sat, staring with anxious eyes into the night outside the window. The single candle on the table, which illuminated their night time activities (Prudence was hemming some napkins and Ida was supposed to be rolling strips of newspaper into small pellets for firelighting) gave her face a haggard quality un befitting to her age.

'I didn't hear anything,' said Ida

'Well, you wouldn't,' said Prudence, 'since you're living in a world of your own…' Her reproachful tone was like salt on an open wound. Ida opened her mouth to snap something back, but then she heard a distinct knocking sound.

'Oh…'

Prudence raised her eyebrows as if to say 'I told you so.'

'I'll get it,' said Ida, rising to her feet.

'But who could it be at this hour?' said Prudence, concern creeping into her voice, 'I think I'd better come with you…'

'If I need help, I'll scream.'

………

The doorstep was empty. Confused, Ida craned her neck to look out into the moonlit street.

'Is anyone there?' she called

'Miss Greene?' came a soft voice out of the darkness

'Who's there?' said Ida, beginning to feel worried. When there was no immediate reply she called

'Don't you try anything, or I'll…'

'No! Please!' came a sudden cry, and Clarence Fortescue stumbled forward into the dim light spilling from the doorway

'Please,' he said, in an urgent voice, 'I _need_ to talk to you…'

Ida observed his wild eyed, distracted expression dubiously. He opened and closed his mouth twice, then words suddenly poured out

'Miss Greene, forgive me, I couldn't help but catch a glimpse of my brother's name on those papers you were carrying earlier…'

'…the papers!' exclaimed Ida, but Clarence's speech continued without even pause for breath:

'It was indeed a most inappropriate, unseemly, unforgiveable thing to do, but I needed to assuage my curiosity, so I must admit to having secreted several of the papers on my person before returning the notebook to you. I have read the papers, Miss Greene, and although I must admit to be at a loss as to understanding much of what they contained, some things were clear. The name of Mr Holmes, and the implications of such a scandal that…'

His voice was rising higher and higher as he became more agitated. Ida interrupted

'You've heard of Mr Holmes?'

'Mr Holmes? Of course! Who hasn't heard of the great consulting detective of Baker Street?'

Ida couldn't help but feel stupid, even though there was really no reason why she should have heard of Mr Holmes before he turned up at the guest house. So. A famous detective, was he? That was still no excuse for being so rude...

'Ida?' said Prudence, suddenly. Shocked, Ida turned to see her friend standing in the hallway behind her

'Ida, I was getting worried,' continued Prudence, taking a step forward. She looked out of the door, to see Clarence standing awkwardly on the step, then stared at Ida, her eyes flashing with accusation. Ida tried desperately not to look guilty. Before she could open her mouth to explain, Prudence announced

'I see I was unnecessarily concerned,' and turned on her heel to march off.

Clarence looked nervously from Prudence's retreating form to Ida's face, his mouth gaping open and shut

'Sorry!' he blurted out at last, 'I didn't mean, of course, for… Shall I go and tell her…What can I…?'

Ida sighed,

'It's not important. But perhaps we ought not to have this conversation on the doorstep…'

'…Quite right! But…um…where…?'

'Let's go for a walk.'

………

The night was mild, and the ripples on Derwentwater glistened in the moonlight. Leaning against one of the posts of the jetty, Ida turned to look at Clarence who was perching uncomfortably on the edge of the wooden structure, as though to bring as little of his clothes into contact with it as possible. During the walk to the lake, the conflict between Holmes's explicit instructions not to get involved and her own awoken curiosity had raged long and hard. But the deciding factor was the thought of Grimshaw, and the memory of how Horace Fortescue had grabbed her… Holmes intended to let Grimshaw remain a prisoner of that man…

'Mr Fortescue,' she began, 'do you still have the papers?'

'I burned them.'

'Oh.'

_Damn and blast it_, thought Ida,

'Well, do you think you could tell me what was in them…?'

'Miss Greene, I came to you because I thought you _knew_ what was going on!'

'I do! I do!' Ida improvised desperately, 'I just wanted to know how much you knew I knew…as it were….'

Clarence raised his eyebrows, and Ida looked away. Staring across the glimmering water she said

'Actually…I don't. I don't know what's going on. But perhaps...'

She turned back to look at him, 'perhaps we could help each other find out?'

'Well, I doubt if I can be of any help…'

'…do you know,' a sudden thought occurred to Ida, 'do you know what a _fossil_ is?'

It may have been a trick of the moonlight, but it seemed to Ida that Clarence looked even more uncomfortable, briefly, if that were possible.

'Yes,' he said, slowly, 'a fossil is a likeness, cast in stone, if you will, of a creature that lived many millions of years ago…But, why…'

'Millions of years ago?'

'Yes, the world was once populated by many strange animals, the likes of which it is hard to imagine today…'

'Do you mean…like…' Ida tried desperately to recall the charity school she had once very briefly attended, 'before the flood?'

Clarence smiled briefly,

'You shouldn't believe everything you hear in Sunday school, Miss Greene.'

Ida didn't much care for being patronised, but she dared not risk upsetting her one and only source of information.

'And are these…fossils…valuable?'

'Some are. To academics, and collectors. Some are very valuable indeed.'

'And do you know of any such people, to whom these fossils are of interest, round here?'

'Well,' said Clarence slowly, 'my own father, for one.'

'Your father!' exclaimed Ida, delighted to have found some meaningful link at last, 'your father! And does your brother have anything to do with his collecting…'

'Miss Greene,' interrupted Clarence, 'I fail to see what fossils have to do with anything, I _need_ to know what my brother is involved in, please…'

Ida stared at him, wondering how much he could be trusted. And what could he have been reading that failed to mention the wretched fossils, which had been a pretty recurring theme in the passages she had perused?

'So what did the papers you read talk about?' she asked

Clarence didn't meet her eye, and adjusted his cuff as he replied

'I began to read the page that had caught my eye originally. It described a meeting in the university library, where Mr Holmes was talking to a Professor Hayes. The Professor was most agitated, for a specimen that he had thought stolen had re appeared in his collection… Oh!' A sudden thought seemed to strike him, 'Would these specimens be fossils by any chance?'

'Yes, said Ida, 'something called an ammonite…'

'Ah! I see. Well, the student who had brought this to his attention was…my own brother. And upon hearing this, Mr Holmes asked to interview my brother…'

Clarence's voice tailed off

'Go on,' said Ida, excitedly, 'there must have been more pages than that!'

'Yes…' said Clarence guiltily, 'yes, there _were_…'

'…and?'

'…I was reading this in my room, and I heard a commotion outside the door. In my panic I cast the lot onto the grate…'

'You burnt all the pages...'

'Yes. I realise this must be a great inconvenience for you, and I _am_ sorry…'

'You _burnt_ all the pages!'

'Miss Greene, you must understand…I was very nervous, and when I heard such a crash…'

'A crash?'

'Yes, a crash outside my room… I thought someone would burst in on me…'

'And did they?'

'No…I opened my door to discover the source of the noise…'

'…and?'

'One of the footmen…Eddie…had dropped a pile of shoes he was carrying…'

'Shoes.'

'Yes, look, I know…'

'So…' Ida blew a long breath out through her mouth, 'so that's that.'

They sat for a moment in silence, broken at last by Clarence

'Miss Greene, I've told you all that I know! Please, tell me _something_…'

Ida sucked her teeth, wondering once again whether she would be making a huge mistake by confiding in this young man. But if she wanted to help Grimshaw then she needed to get back into the Fortescue house… But what would Clarence's reaction be to what she was about to accuse his brother of?

'Miss Greene, I implore you!'

'Very well.' Ida began, 'but what I am about to tell you is in the strictest confidence. You are not to go to the police, and…' she gulped, 'you are _not_ to approach Mr Holmes and tell him what I told you…'

'Hah, well, I'm not likely to be hopping on the next train to London…'

'…What?' Ida exclaimed, then suddenly remembered that there was no reason for Clarence to know that Holmes was in Keswick… 'Oh, right, to see Mr Holmes, yes…that would be a little ridiculous. Hahaha…'

'Hahaha.'

'So,' she said, 'Please, hear me out…I know it sounds mad, but I have reason to believe that your brother is keeping a certain young man prisoner in your house.'

'What!'

'Mr Fortescue, I know what it sounds like, but I saw with my own eyes that Horace is keeping a man… one Mr Grimshaw… prisoner…'

To Ida's surprise, Clarence let out a peal of laughter,

'I don't think it's very funny!' she said indignantly,

'My apologies Miss Greene,' he said, 'but it is rather amusing… You see, Grimshaw, Mortimer Grimshaw, or Morty as we call him, is a friend of my brother's from university…'

'I don't care what he's told you,' Ida said hotly, 'but I know that Grimshaw is being held against his will!'

'Grimshaw has been holidaying at our house for the last two years! There's no coercion going on I assure you!'

'I don't believe you,' said Ida, remembering the scene in the garden,

'Miss Greene, what can I possibly do to convince you?'

'Well…' said Ida, thoughtfully, 'you could let me see him…'

'Excuse me?'

'You could let me into your house, and find some way of spying on him and your brother…Then we'll see how willing a guest he is…'

'I hardly think that would be appropriate Miss Greene.'

'No,' said Ida, glumly, 'no, I suppose not.'

They stared at the water for some minutes more, until Clarence eventually said,

'So was that all that you could accuse my brother of?'

Ida opened her mouth, then remembered that Holmes was supposedly in London, so mentioning the assault was probably unwise.

'Yes,' she said, 'yes, that was all.'

Clarence seemed to relax a little

'I have kept you up far too late, Miss Greene,' he said, 'pray, let me escort you back home.'

Ida got to her feet,

'Thank you, Mr Fortescue,' she said, flatly.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for the reviews guys, and sorry for taking so long with this chapter... 


	8. Chapter Eight

Ida rose even earlier than usual the following morning, and crept about the house performing as many of both her and Prudence's daily tasks as she could manage. It looked as though her efforts to make amends might have paid off a little when, just before 7, as she knelt scrubbing the front step, she heard Prudence behind her, saying

'I've made the tea. Come in the kitchen and have a cup…'

Ida smiled

'Thanks, I'll be right there…'

She returned to the scrubbing with renewed vigour...

…just as a pair of brown leather boots appeared in front of her.

Ida raised her head slowly, observing dark blue trousers, a jacket trimmed with silver brocade, some highly polished silver buttons and…

…the face of Eddie, the footman from the Fortescue house.

Ida fought to keep recognition out of her eyes, but he was already staring at her in blatant curiousity...

'Hello,' he said, 'Do I…'

The confusion in his eyes vanished, only to be replaced seconds later with a more troubled expression of puzzlement…

'Prudence?' he asked

Ida struggled to think how to respond, but the silence was broken by another voice

'I'm Prudence,' came the disapproving tones of the woman herself, still standing in the hallway, 'and who might you be?'

'_You're_ called Prudence?' exclaimed Eddie, 'Oh, sorry, I was talking to Prudence here,'

He gestured towards Ida, who was still kneeling on the doorstep, oblivious to the water that was now soaking into her skirt from the scrubbing brush she held uselessly

'That is Miss Ida Greene,' said Prudence, advancing on the doorway, 'and you still have not introduced yourself…'

'Pru,' Eddie addressed Ida, 'I _really_ don't understand… But I _can_ tell you that the housekeeper back at the Fortescues…'

'Look, boy, we haven't the time for your babbling,' said Prudence, 'I've never seen you before in my life, and nor has Ida.' She shot Ida a stern look, and said questioningly 'have you, Ida?'

'I…' Ida stammered, 'No, of course not…'

Eddie's eyes narrowed. Ida knew that hers conveyed desperation, and hoped he would be sympathetic…

'…well…' he said, slowly, 'I suppose I must have been mistaken. Sorry, miss.'

Prudence snorted. Ida quickly cut in to say

'So why did you come here, E…' she stopped herself from saying his name just in time, but the suspicion in his eyes grew even deeper. She cursed her own stupidity. Perhaps Holmes had been right, and she was a complete liability.

'I was sent to deliver a note.'

'A note,' said Prudence, 'well, hand it over.'

Eddie brought a folded piece of cream coloured paper out of his pocket and laboriously read the copperplate script on the front

'It says it's for a Miss Greene…' his eyes slid over to Ida, 'And my master was most specific that it was to be delivered to her hands only.'

Ida stood up quickly, accidentally kicking over the bucket she had been using as she cleaned the step. Soapy water cascaded down the street. Eddie hopped out of the way, exclaiming

'Watch out!'

'I am Miss Greene,' said Ida, extending her hand, 'Please?'

'I am the head servant here,' said Prudence, 'all correspondence is to be handed to me.'

'What?' cried Ida, 'since when? You never…'

'…it's the rules, Ida, you know that…'

Eddie stared from one to the other in bemusement

'He did say it was rather urgent,' he offered

'Prudence, please!' said Ida, 'I have to see what that note says!'

'So you shall,' came the reply, 'but only after I have…' and splashing through the puddle that had formed around the wooden bucket, Prudence plucked the note from the footman's surprised fingers. Ida made a grab for it, but Prudence raised her hand above her head. Eddie wisely backed away to a safer distance.

'Prudence, _give it to me_,' hissed Ida through clenched teeth, but to no avail.

'I have to know what's going on, Ida.'

'Don't you trust me, Pru? Don't you trust that I wouldn't be doing anything bad?'

'I used to trust you, Ida.'

The sorrowful, betrayed expression in Prudence's eyes shocked Ida as much as if she had been physically struck. She took a step backwards, and stared at the dirty water swirling round the toes of her shoes, fighting back tears.

Satisfied that no one was going to snatch it from her, Prudence unfolded the note. She appeared to give it the merest cursory glance before saying quietly,

'Ida. Explain this, please.'

Ida looked up, sniffing, to see Prudence extending the note towards her. Gulping with trepidation, she took the paper, and read

'Miss Greene,

You were correct!

I must see you.

Please come to where we met last night as soon as you can. I shall be there until noon.

C'

Ida met Prudence's sad gaze

'You _know_ the rules about seeing men,' she said,

'I know! And this is _not_ what you think!' exclaimed Ida,

'Don't lie to me, Ida, it's not like you…'

'I'm not lying!'

'Ida…this must be very hard for you, but unless this ends right now then I will be forced to tell Mrs Beech…'

Ida closed her eyes tightly, her mind in turmoil, trying to think of a way to escape…

…'Excuse me?' came Dr Watson's voice

All 3 servants standing in the road turned to see the doctor, resplendent in a navy blue towelling dressing gown, standing in the doorway,

'Um…I don't want to be any trouble, but last night I did ask for morning coffee at 7, and it's gone ten past…'

'Oh,' cried Prudence, 'I am sorry doctor!'

Prudence's attention momentarily distracted, Ida saw her chance. She _had_ to know what Clarence had discovered. Turning on her heel, she sprinted off in the direction of Derwentwater.

'Ida!' what do you think you're doing?' came a shout from behind her, 'get back here!'

'Sorry!' Ida threw back over her shoulder, 'But believe me, I _will_ explain…'

'Fine!' yelled Prudence, 'Go! But you won't have a job here to return to!'

………

Prudence's words had stung. But, as Ida ran, she became more and more convinced that it was mere posturing. She and Prudence had run the boarding house side by side for 3 years now, during which time they had become firm friends. A little misunderstanding couldn't undo all that, could it? Prudence wouldn't actually go and tell Mrs Beech, any more than she herself would have done if their places were reversed… With comforting thoughts like these, Ida's pace slowed. Her heart, which had been hammering fit to burst, calmed down, and her breathing came more easily. When she finally reached the lakeside, it was at a composed yet brisk walking pace.

Clarence was nowhere to be seen. Ida scrambled onto a wooden crate that was lying near to the jetty, and scanned around her. Still no sign. She wandered over to the rowing boats that were lined up at the water's edge, awaiting tourists to hire them out as the day progressed. One of them seemed much smarter than the rest, gleaming with fresh paint. She stood for a moment or so, looking vaguely in its direction, her mind elsewhere.

It was already warm, even at this early hour. This time, before hordes of holidaymakers descended on the lake, yet still with sunlight glimmering off the reflected mountains in its depths was truly her favourite…

…running footsteps on the gravel behind her shattered the early morning peace. Ida's head snapped round to see the source of the commotion, but before her brain even had time to recognise the figure, it cannoned into her, pushing her over the edge of the painted rowing boat. Winded by the impact on the wooden surface, she lay helpless as the boat was shoved off from the gravely shore. She closed her eyes, as someone clambered aboard, making the boat sway drunkenly from side to side. Fighting for breath, she struggled to sit up, but was shoved back down

'Please keep down, for goodness sake!'

'What's…' she managed to wheeze out, 'happening?'

A face swam into view above hers,

'Are you injured, Miss Greene?'

'_Clarence_?'

* * *

Thanks loads for all the reviews! And apologies for such a long delay with this chapter...

About Jeremy Brett, afraid I haven't seen him in My Fair Lady...though I have of course seen him as Holmes... Which raises an interesting question - what's the best Holmes dramatisation on TV, film, radio etc. My absolute favourite has to be the BBC radio version with Clive Merrison and Michael Williams(available on internet radio BBC7 for anyone who hasn't had the pleasure!)


	9. Chapter Nine

'Clarence!' snapped Ida, as soon as she had caught her breath, 'what the hell is happening?'

'Just stay low…' he said, urgently, manoeuvring himself into position to take the oars. Ida tried to shift her position to get more comfortable, and narrowly missed having Clarence plant his foot right on her shin

'Sorry, sorry…' he muttered, starting to row the boat further away from the shore.

The shock of the assault beginning to wear off, Ida started to feel worried

'Where are you taking me?'

'Later…'

'_Where are you taking me_?'

'Miss Greene, I really can't…'

'If you don't tell me, I shall sit up and I shall scream for help…'

'…no! No, you have no idea…Look…Just stay down there and I'll explain.'

He was already panting slightly with the exertion of pulling on the oars, and as Ida looked up awkwardly from where she lay, she could see his reddening face in profile as he craned his neck to check where he was going. He turned back, then, to look over Ida's head back to the shore, and there was fear in his eyes. Eventually he began to speak

'I sent that note this morning, and rowed to the lakeside to wait for you. It's quicker to get from my house that way, you see, and it was a nice morning…'

'…yes?'

'So I was waiting by the jetty, in some state of agitation. You can only imagine my horror to see my brother coming up the path from the town!'

'Indeed.'

'I have no idea how he spent last night – he was absent from our house. As far as I know, he was heading back there this morning...when he saw me...'

Clarence twisted his head around again, and seemed to decide that he ought to rotate the direction of the boat a little. He rowed only with the right hand for a while, splashing a great deal, and Ida let him concentrate on that, it being apparent that he wasn't a great oarsman. She felt the boat gradually turning against the current. If it wasn't for the planking digging painfully into her ribs, and the throbbing in her head from when she had caught it on the edge of the boat, she could almost have enjoyed the ride…But Clarence was talking again

'He was in a cheerful mood, and stopped to talk to me. I claimed to have been out fishing…'

'…fishing?'

'…Yes…a little unwise really, given my lack of, um, fishing tackle.'

'And did he…?'

'…it may have aroused his suspicions a _little_…'

'I can imagine.'

'So I feigned surprise at my own stupidity…'

'…can't have been that difficult…' muttered Ida to herself,

'…and asked him if he wouldn't mind asking one of the servants to bring a fishing rod out to me, when he got back to the house. I thought that would do the trick – to get rid of him – but to my horror he said that it was a nice day for some fishing, and he would fetch a couple of rods and come back, so we could do some together!'

He paused, dramatically, but Ida said nothing

'I was powerless to stop him – he headed off back to the house…on foot, for he isn't fond of boats…and I had to remain here, awaiting your arrival. But time went by, and I was so scared he would return and find you here…so that when you _did_ come…'

'You thought it would be best to crack my head on your little rowing boat...'

'…I'm _really_ sorry about that…'

'Clarence, if he had seen you, if he had chosen that moment to return, don't you think that your behaviour just now would have been significantly _more_ suspicious than had you just spoken to me?'

'Well…I…'

'…and what is he going to think when he returns to find you gone?'

'…um…I…'

'And where are you taking me now?'

There was a sudden _clunk_ of wood against wood as Clarence let go of the oars and they drifted to strike the sides of the boat. The quiver which went through the planks made Ida jump.

'I can't deal with all this!' exclaimed the young man, in obvious anguish. Ida reached up, gripped the edges of the boat in both hands and dragged herself into a sitting position. A brief wave of nausea flooded over as she raised her head, but she gritted her teeth.

Clarence had dropped his head into his hands, his elbows resting on his knees. The oars were still in their rowlocks, but the boat was floating aimlessly. As Ida looked around, she saw that they were now out of sight of the small harbour they started from.

'Clarence?' she said, gently 'it's alright. We're alright, and your brother will probably be eating breakfast right now, not giving you a second thought…And I'm sure that you did the right thing…by…um…kidnapping me…' her voice trailed off as her brain caught up, but Clarence was hardly listening. He slowly lifted his head to meet her eyes, and said, hollowly

'My own brother is a criminal.'

Ida returned his gaze with equal seriousness.

'What have you discovered?'

'Last night,' he began, with that same monotonous hollow quality to his voice, 'my brother went out, into town. He often does, to play cards, to meet his friends…' Clarence swallowed, as though his mouth was becoming dry. 'When I returned, after seeing you, he had already left. I retired to my own room. But I could not sleep. I thought I might read for a while, but remembered that I had lent my latest edition of the _Strand Magazine_ to my brother. So, I thought I would retrieve it from his room.'

At this point, Clarence paused again, and Ida noticed that he was knotting the fingers of one hand into the other.

'I happen to know that my brother keeps a spare key to his room inside an oriental vase in the library, for use on the occasions that he mislays his usual copy. I thought that since he was out, I could easily slip into his room to get my magazine… So I took the key, and went inside. Miss Greene, as I stepped into the room, I realised…' here his voice dropped to a hoarse whisper, '_there was someone on the bed_.'

Ida lent forward conspiratorially

'My first thought was that it was my brother. But…Miss Greene, you had planted seeds of suspicion in my mind, and I had been certain he was going out…So I stepped forward once again.

'Miss Greene, in the moonlight which came through the window…the curtains, you see, being un drawn, I recognised none other than Morty Grimshaw.'

Ida exhaled loudly,

'Well!' she said, 'I hope that…'

Clarence held up a hand to silence her

'I didn't know what to think,' he continued, 'until I noticed something else. There was something…unnatural…about his sleep. His breathing was very slow, and he had not stirred on my entry. So I went closer and shook his arm.'

'And?' said Ida, eagerly

'And he did not wake. And I found that I could not move his arm…because a rope had been used to tie him very securely to the bed.'

Ida's eyes widened, and she sat back in the boat.

'Miss Greene,' said Clarence, desperately, 'I don't know what to do! My first instinct was to free Mortimer, to call for help… But then… Was I to turn in my own brother? And the scandal that would involve…Not that that should matter, I know, but…I _need_ to find out what is happening here…Oh, Miss Greene, I don't know what to do!'

Although she found the whiney edge to his voice a little grating, Ida felt genuinely sorry for the young man, his stricken face staring so hopelessly at hers. She reached over and patted his tensely clasped hands

'We'll find out,' she said, 'I promise.'

………

'Nice boathouse,' commented Ida, for want of anything else to say, as Clarence manoeuvred the boat rather ineptly into the wooden structure which adjoined the Fortescue mansion, where the water came up right to the edge of the house. It was a large, airy space, where a small sailing boat was also housed.

There was a bump, then the boat rocked dangerously from side to side once more, as Clarence scrambled to his feet and climbed up onto some wooden steps. He turned back, and offered his hand to help Ida up alongside him. Apparently observing her properly for the first time, he said

'Gosh, I really am sorry about your head…'

Ida gingerly felt the lump with her free hand

'I'll live.'

As they reached the top of the stairs, Ida hung back

'Clarence, I'm not sure bringing me to your house is such a good idea…'

'…but I need your help to find out what's going on!'

'Yes…but don't you think your family will be…puzzled…by my presence?'

Clarence paused, then

'We'll just have to make sure they don't see you, then,' he said, decisively.

………

Miraculously, they managed to make their way to Clarence's room, by way of a side staircase, without meeting a soul. As they slipped inside, Ida thought briefly of Prudence, and the expression on her face if she could see them now… But her mind was quickly drawn back to the matter in hand. Clarence threw himself onto the bed, apparently struck again by a fit of despair. He seemed unwilling to talk for the time being, so Ida wandered over to the window, and pulled the curtain back a little to look down onto the lawns where she had seen Horace and Grimshaw the day before.

Clarence's loyalty to his brother was touching…but Ida herself had no sympathies to spare for Horace. Her main priority was to free Grimshaw, and she was sure that Clarence could be persuaded to assist…

…her hand brushed against a cold, smooth object on the windowsill. She looked down to find a strange stone resting there, a ribbed spiral shape just a little smaller than her palm. Intrigued, she picked it up.

'What's this?' she asked, turning to Clarence, who still lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. He propped himself up on his elbows to look at her.

'That? That's…well, it's an ammonite.'

'A…fossil?'

'That's right…' Clarence hesitated, 'Well, truthfully it's only a model of a fossil.'

'A model?' breathed Ida softly, turning the object over in her hand

'Yes. Not a terribly good one, I'm afraid, I've made much better…'

'_You_ make…forgeries…of fossils?' said Ida slowly, her mind in turmoil

'Well, that's a bit of a harsh word!' said Clarence, slightly hotly 'it's not like I pass them off as the real thing!'

'No?' said Ida, 'so why do you make them?'

'Sculpture is a hobby of mine… I enjoy reproducing things found in nature as realistically as I can…'

Ida looked at him sceptically, and he blushed

'There isn't much I do which pleases my father,' he said, swinging his legs round so that he could sit on the edge of the bed, 'but he was impressed by the way I could make replicas of his fossil specimens. Some of his collection is very valuable, and he likes to keep the genuine article locked away. My copies look good on the shelves of his study.'

'I see.'

'You must think me insufferably dull…'

_No_, mused Ida, _no, not quite what I was thinking_…

'How do you do it?' she said aloud

Clarence brightened visibly

'Oh, I use a variety of materials – clay, plaster of Paris…lumps of chalk and limestone…it depends on the subject. And I have perfected many different combinations of paints, lacquers, varnishes and stains to produce an authentic looking finish. Hah, sometimes my own father can hardly tell them apart from the real thing!'

'Really?' smiled Ida, hoping that her grin was not too false looking.

'Yes…I may never be a true artist, but I am a perfectionist at this small thing…'

'…I can well imagine…' said Ida. 'Tell me, does your brother take an interest in this at all?'

A thoughtful look passed across Clarence's features

'It's funny you should mention that…' he said.

* * *

Well, here you go, I managed to update a bit quicker this time! Hope you like!


	10. Chapter Ten

'So let me get this straight,' said Ida, plonking herself onto the edge of Clarence's bed, and plucking distractedly at the quilt, 'two weeks ago, back in July, your brother…who was still in Oxford…'

'…yes, his term had ended, but he was staying behind to work on something or other…though between you and me, I suspect decidedly more drinking than working…'

'…yes, alright, so he was still in Oxford, and he wrote you a letter, with a rather odd request…'

'…odd, indeed, odd is the word, but Miss Greene, I fail to see how…'

'…he wanted you to send him some copies you had made of several ammonites which your father had recently purchased…'

'Yes.'

'Clarence, didn't you wonder why on earth…?'

'Well…he said that he'd told one of his tutors about my skill, and that they were impressed and wanted to see…'

'…and you believed that?'

Clarence's eyes widened,

'Shouldn't I have?'

Ida bit her lip, wondering what to say

'Oh!' exclaimed Clarence, flinging himself backwards onto the bed again, making the mattress vibrate, 'I'm such a fool!'

'No, no,' said Ida, trying to sound convincing, 'you're not a fool, of course not…Um…'

'Ida…May I call you Ida, Miss Greene?'

'Yes,'

'Ida…are you suggesting that Horace was…somehow…using the replica fossils for…nefarious purposes…?' his voice dropped to a low whisper

Stifling a giggle, Ida replied

'I fear so…'

At this Clarence groaned again,

'What have I _done_?'

Exasperated, Ida rose from the bed and went to the window again, wondering how on earth she was going to get Clarence to focus on the immediate task of freeing Grimshaw.

'Oh!' came another cry of despair. Ida did not turn round, 'Oh, and I suppose the bones he asked for were also…'

'…bones?' Ida spun on her heel

'Yes, Horace asked me to mock up some fossil bones, only 5 days ago…'

'Bones now?'

'Yes, the funny thing about those was that there was no real specimen for me to work from, just some specifications on length, width, curvature…'

'…right, I see…'

'Ida, have you any notion what might be happening here?'

Ida did, in fact, have the first inklings of the shape of what had been happening, but the details were still very blurred

'I'm sorry, Clarence, I don't think I…'

There was a sharp rap at the door. Clarence sat up on the bed, rigid with fear,

'What are we going to do?' he hissed

Ida opened the door of the thankfully large wardrobe, catching a glimpse of herself in the looking glass on the inside of the door and sighing to see the state of her hair after the boat escapade.

The knock came again

'Open it, then…' hissed Ida, climbing inside the wardrobe and shutting the door.

……….

In the pitch darkness, the scent of mothballs almost choking her, and with one of Clarence's suits tickling the back of her neck, Ida pressed her ear to the wooden door, which was thin enough for her to hear what was happening fairly well. She heard Clarence's footsteps drag their way reluctantly across the floor, then the faint creak of the door opening,

'Oh! I thought I heard voices,' came the penetrating tones of Horace Fortescue, 'are you alone?'

'I…of course! What are you suggesting, Horace! That I was keeping someone locked up in my room? Hah! What a suggestion indeed!'

_Damn, damn, damn! _thought Ida, willing Clarence to keep quiet

'Steady, old chap,' said Horace, without a trace of actual concern, 'I thought you were going fishing, anyway…'

'…oh, I'm sorry about that, did you end up taking the rods and…'

'…No, I sent the stable boy in the end, it doesn't matter.'

_Doesn't matter_ fumed Ida, _of course, I bet the stable boy has no other tasks to do in a day except go on wasted errands for_ _rich idiots like you two…_

'How's Mortimer?' asked Clarence, far too quickly, 'where is he?'

'I don't know exactly,' came the measured reply, 'I'm sure he's about the place somewhere, why?'

'No reason, no reason,' said Clarence, in a sterling performance worthy of the 'worst actor in the world' competition, Ida only prayed that his face was betraying less than his voice…

'Perhaps he's downstairs with father and his guests.'

'Guests?'

'Yes, another bloody fossil collector's turned up out of the blue.'

'Really?'

'A Dr Smythe, this time. Funny hour to call, don't you think? Father's showing him his study.'

'And who else?'

'What?'

'You said _guests_…'

'Oh right, well, this chap's in a wheelchair. Got a man to push him around, don't know his name.'

'I see…'

'...why don't you head down there, if you're so interested?'

'…I…um….'

'I was thinking of going down myself, actually. Care to come?'

'I…I…'

'Not as if you're doing much here, Clarence old chap…'

'…as a matter of fact, I…'

'You're looking very red, Clarence, got a girl hidden in the wardrobe, have you?'

Ida froze,

'Ha ha! The idea! Of course not!' said Clarence, far too loudly, 'I'll come down with you right now, got no plans at all for today…'

'Just as you like.'

Ida heard the door close. She waited a good minute, then slowly opened the wardrobe a crack and peeked out. The room was empty. Clambering out, her joints made a cracking sound as she stretched her cramped limbs. What was she going to do now?

………

Squeezed between a large potted plant and an umbrella stand, Ida cursed her own stupidity for the umpteenth time that day. Upon leaving Clarence's room, she had tried the doors of several other rooms along the same corridor, hoping to locate Grimshaw, but had found them to be locked or empty. She had been making her way back to Clarence's room, intending to wait for him there, when she had caught sight of a housemaid at the other end of the corridor. Terrified that the girl had seen her, Ida had run in the other direction, and found herself at the top of the grand staircase which swept up from the entrance hall to the first floor. The only hiding place obvious through her blind panic was the plant and umbrella stand next to the front door itself, and it was to those she had sprinted, nearly slipping on the highly polished tiles of the entrance hall. Only once there, did she scan her surroundings properly, and realise that there was a much better place on the other side of the hall, between a grandfather clock and an antique cabinet. The shadows there were really deep, and the space looked bigger than this prickly one… Ida was just wondering whether to make a dash for it, when she heard voices and the squeaking of wheels

'You have a fine collection, sir,' came a reedy voice, 'and we would be delighted to accept your invitation to return this evening…'

'…you must stay for dinner, of course,'

'…you are very kind…'

Ida realised she must be listening to Lord William Fortescue, and his guest Dr Smythe

'How do you like Keswick?'

'Oh, very much…' came another man's voice. He spoke with a Scottish accent, but something didn't quite fit…Ida couldn't exactly place it, but…

The men came into view: first Horace and a rather uncomfortable looking Clarence who kept looking at his watch; then Lord Fortescue, a white haired, portlier version of Horace; then someone whom Ida supposed had to be Dr Smythe. He was an elderly gentleman in a wheelchair - a tartan blanket over his knees completely concealing his legs - who sported a shock of unruly grey hair and a hugely bushy grey beard. The wheelchair was pushed by a man who must have been the other one to speak…a tall ish man with a moustache and… but it couldn't be…

The man looked straight at her.

'Don't forget your umbrella, Donald,' said Dr Smythe

'Right,' said the man, heading straight towards her. He bent over the umbrella stand…

'Miss Greene,' whispered Dr Watson, 'stay very _very_ still.'

Ida stifled a gasp,

'We will create a diversion and you must slip out of the front door. We will meet you on the lane back to Keswick.'

He straightened his back, and spoke, in the – frankly appalling – Scottish accent again,

'I don't think I brought an umbrella with me after all.'

'Oh,' said Dr Smythe…or…as Ida stared at him…_Mr Holmes_? 'well, it is a beautiful day. _Oh_!' He pointed a trembling finger up the stairs,

'What?' exclaimed Lord Fortescue

'Someone just ran past the landing!'

'Oh, I don't think…'

'A young man, it looked like…'

Horace dashed for the stairs

'Horace?' shouted Lord Fortescue, 'what the devil?'

'I'll catch him, father!' shouted Horace

'Catch who? I didn't see anyone!'

Realisation suddenly flashed in Clarence's face, and he charged after Horace

'Boys!' shouted Lord Fortescue, 'what are you playing at?'

Ida suddenly realised that this was her diversion, as Lord Fortescue himself headed towards the foot of the stairs, craning his neck to see his sons as they raced along the first floor corridor. She slipped out from behind the umbrella stand, and slid back the bolts on the front door, which were thankfully well oiled. Then it was the work of a second to undo the latch and slip outside, with a grateful look back at Holmes and Watson, before she sprinted up the drive.

………

It was a shamefaced Ida who greeted Holmes and Watson, still disguised as Dr Smythe and Donald, on the path into town.

'I realise how wrong I was to go back to the house…but you must understand, Clarence practically kidnapped me…'

Holmes made a noncommittal sound in the back of his throat

'I can't tell you how grateful I am! How did you know…'

'When Watson saw you run off this morning, it didn't take much reasoning to work out where you were going to end up. But don't flatter yourself Miss Greene, your safety was a concern, but of equal concern to us was damage limitation. We needed to know how much you had derailed the investigation this time…'

'…Steady on Holmes,' said Watson, 'that's a bit harsh…'

'…and?' said Ida, insolently, 'how much have I _derailed_ the investigation?'

'Miraculously,' said Holmes, 'not all that much, I was surprised. Clarence is a nervous wreck, but from the way his brother and father acted I suspect that is not far from his normal demeanour at the best of times. And our tour of Lord Fortescue's study was most informative…'

'Really?' asked Watson, 'what did you pick up on, Holmes? I must confess that I was at a loss as to…'

'…there is a highly skilled forger at work, Watson. Most of Lord Fortescue's collection, in fact…'

'….Oh,' said Ida 'I know about _that_! Clarence told me how he makes replicas of the collection so that his father can have them on display, and keep the real ones locked up safely…'

Holmes flashed her a look which, for the first time that day, was not edged with disdain, 'Indeed?' he said. 'As I was about to say, most of Lord Fortescue's collection is in replica form, but I did _not_ know that Clarence was involved…'

'Oh, but he's not involved,' said Ida, quickly, 'it's all Horace's doing. Horace asked him to send him copies to Oxford, Horace asked him to make some fake bones…'

'…and we are supposed to believe that Clarence is unaware of Horace's intentions…'

'Yes! Come to that, _I'm_ unaware…'

Holmes stared levelly at her, as if weighing up several alternatives in his head. Then

'Right,' he said, 'back to Keswick.'

'Are you coming back to the boarding house?' asked Ida

'No,' said Holmes, quickly, 'there are a few things we need to pick up in town. You go on ahead.'

* * *

A/N: Thankyou so much to everyone who's been reviewing, I'm really enjoying writing this story...am hoping to finish it before my lectures start up again with the new term, hence the quicker updating, hope this new chapter doesn't disappoint!


	11. Chapter Eleven

As soon as Ida entered the kitchen, it was clear from Prudence's red rimmed eyes that she had been crying.

'Oh, Pru,' said Ida, 'I'm so, so, sorry to have done this to you. Look, I'll work twice as hard from now on, you won't recognise me…'

'…stop, Ida. It's too late.'

'Too late?'

'…You know, this morning? I didn't mean it when I shouted at you, I was just so angry…But I wouldn't have actually gone to tell Mrs Beech…'

'…I know, Prudence, I know…'

'…But she came here, today, to…' something of the anguish in Prudence's tone finally got through to Ida. She felt as if a cold band of iron were closing inside her chest,

'…go on,' she said, hoarsely

'Mrs Beech came here today to check the housekeeping accounts. You know how…precise she is…'

'…yes…'

'…and she noticed that it didn't add up. I'd entered in the amount for the sugar, you see, but there wasn't…'

'…there wasn't any sugar,' said Ida, with an air of resignation.

'Ida, I didn't want to say anything, but she _kept_ asking questions, and then she threatened _me_ with dismissal…Ida, I _can't_ lose this job, you know I'm the only one sending money back home to my mother and sisters…'

'…I know.'

'…and once I'd said…well...Ida, you never even told me what had happened so I didn't know what to say, and…Ida, I'm so sorry, but it sort of slipped out about that young man…'

'…it sort of slipped out?' Ida spat through clenched teeth, 'Prudence, you haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about…'

Prudence merely broke down into loud sobs. Ida put her arm round her,

'It's alright, Pru,' she said, her anger dissipating, 'don't cry.'

Though as she stood there, comforting her friend, the true significance of what Prudence was trying to tell her began to dawn. She was going to lose her job. Not only that, with the sort of reference Mrs Beech was going to give her, she had lost all prospects of gaining employment in the service of a respectable family or business in the future. Unlike Prudence, she had no family: her parents and younger brother having succumbed to a cholera epidemic that had swept through the tenement housing where she had been born. At least that meant no one was dependent on her for financial support. But in the mean time she had nowhere to turn when she was, as was looking extremely likely, turned out onto the streets.

'When?' she heard herself asking suddenly,

'When what?' sniffed Prudence

'When must I leave?'

'Mrs Beech said right away…but I said I couldn't manage on my own… You've got until the end of the week.'

………

Ida went about her general household tasks with a detached air, her thoughts dwelling on Holmes, Watson, Clarence and Grimshaw rather than resting on the problem of how on earth she would manage without this job. She was in the parlour, idly sweeping some dust under the carpet (after all, it wasn't as though her reputation as a housemaid could get any worse), when she heard the opening of the front door and Holmes's voice in the hallway

'Don't _fuss_, Watson…'

'…all I'm saying is that it was hard enough managing the stairs this morning, and…'

'Who said anything about the stairs?'

'I'm assuming that you intend returning to our rooms…'

'Well, that would seem rather foolish, seeing as we shall shortly be leaving once more…'

'Excuse me?'

'The parlour, Watson…'

There was an awkward shuffling sound, then the handle of the parlour door began to turn. Ida hurried over, as the door opened. On the other side stood Holmes, leaning heavily on a pair of crutches, and Watson, red faced with exasperation and the mid afternoon heat. Several paper packages tied up with string were festooned about his person…

'Ah, Miss Greene,' said Holmes, 'a happy coincidence. Could you give us a few moments of your valuable time, or does the carpet require further attention?'

'I am at your service, _sir_,' said Ida, _if there _is_ any use for an impetuous, irrational, impulsive female _she added privately.

'Good,' he said, hopping nimbly with the crutches over to the couch. He managed to swing himself into a seated position.

'Watson, the packages…'

The doctor untangled himself from the strings, and placed the brown paper packets beside Holmes.

'Miss Greene,' began Holmes, 'it appears that you cannot be trusted to keep away from the Fortescue House, despite the strictest of instructions…'

'…I…' began Ida, but his withering stare silenced her, and he continued

'…in light of this, and in light of the information you provided us with earlier today – information which, I admit, was useful – I think itmight be best if you stayed close by myself and the good doctor here as the investigation draws to a close.'

'Close by…?'

'You are aware, of course, of the little charade we played at the Fortescue House this morning?'

'Yes, _Doctor Smythe_, I am aware, although…'

'…well, Miss Greene, perhaps you would care to play the part of Doctor Smythe's private secretary?'

'…excuse me?'

'I am sure you could do an admirable job, as long as you manage to bite your tongue…'

'…but…'

'…I am aware that thanks to your various activities, your face is known to several members of the Fortescue household, but with a little…ingenuity…I am sure that problem can be solved. Observe…'

Holmes seized the first of the packages, and deftly unwrapped it, to reveal what appeared to be a cream coloured blouse and a dark green skirt. He laid these on the couch, then opened another much smaller packet and placed a lacy hankerchief and a small round brooch on top of the clothes, addressing his friend -

'The key is in the _detail_, Watson'

Another packet, and a pair of black boots was added to the haul…

'Second hand, naturally, we want to create a realistic picture…'

…a pair of round lensed spectacles on a gold chain…

'Unfortunately, Miss Greene, I had not the time to locate a pair made with plain glass instead of lenses, so I suggest you wear these far enough down your nose to be able to look over the top…'

Ida merely stared, speechless.

A hat, a hatpin, a small bag and a notebook completed the collection of purchases. The final packet was a very small twist of paper, which Holmes held out towards her

'Henna,' he said, as if that were an explanation

'Henna?' asked Ida, taking it,

'Yes. To dye your hair…'

'…to _dye_ my _hair_?'

'Yes. Red, as it happens…'

'_Red_?' Ida put up a hand protectively towards her fairly nondescript mouse coloured hair that was, nevertheless, quite dear to her, 'but won't that make me more obvious?'

'Ah,' said Holmes, 'that's the beauty of it! The true master of disguise doesn't necessarily seek to hide away…'

'…but red?'

'You have fair skin, it should look natural enough.'

'But even so…'

'Miss Greene, do you want to assist us?'

'…yes…' said Ida, though she was feeling less and less sure of that by the second,

'So dye your hair, see if you can make it curl…'

Ida's scowl deepened, but Holmes seemed unperturbed,

'put on these clothes, try to take smaller steps when you walk, remember to address me as Doctor Smythe… do you think you could manage a different accent by the way?'

'_Accent_?'

'On second thoughts, try to speak as little as possible…'

Ida moved over to the couch, and fingered the clothes. They were of good quality, and looked as though they would fit her well enough. But Holmes's arrogance was starting to annoy

'The key may be the detail, Mr Holmes,' she said, 'but you seem to have neglected petticoat, stockings, drawers…'

She looked him directly in the eye, trying to provoke a reaction, but he merely replied coolly

'You have proven adept at improvisation so far, Miss Greene. The doctor and I were confident of your ability to think of something.'

* * *

Thankyou for all the kind reviews...sequel, eh? We'll have to see... 


	12. Chapter Twelve

A/N, sorry for the delay in posting these final chapters, wretched network was down and I couldn't upload anything...However, the delay does mean I get to post all the final chapters at once, so the story is now complete! Hope you enjoy...

* * *

'Who…' Prudence stared for several shocked seconds, '_Ida_?' 

'Yes,' said Ida, holding a looking glass and trying to secure her hat with the other hand. She had decided that brazening it out would work better than trying to explain.

'Wha..' Prudence stepped into the small bedroom which she and Ida shared, 'What are you…'

'Careful,' Ida indicated the basin on the floor she had used to dye her hair.

'Ida, what have you…'

'Do you like it?'

'Your _hair_…'

'I've got another job, Pru.'

'As _what_?'

Ida couldn't help but admire how Prudence could go from shock to disapproval in under 3 seconds.

'A secretary.'

'A secretary?'

'That's right.'

'I don't believe you.'

Ida put down the looking glass.

'I'll be off then,' she said

Prudence moved as though to block her way

'You're working for the rest of this week…'

'I'm going out.'

Prudence gaped, but seemed to realise there was nothing left to use as a threat.

'Ida…' she said, hopelessly, 'whatever it is you're doing…be careful, alright?'

'I will.'

Ida smoothed down her new skirt, and waited while Prudence stepped slowly out of the way.

…

Holmes nodded curtly as Ida re entered the parlour. He was seated in the wheelchair once more, and had donned the wig and false beard of Dr Smythe.

'That will do,' he said, 'though you must be sure not to make eye contact with anyone, particularly Clarence. You understand?'

'Yes.'

'Right then, Dr Smythe,' said Watson, in his dreadful Scots accent, gripping the handles of the wheelchair, 'off we go…'

Ida did not let the slightest flicker of amusement pass across her countenance.

'Very good,' murmured Holmes.

There was a knock at the door. Ida jumped, and looked fearfully at Holmes

'Who…' she began, but Watson said

'That will be the carriage Lord Fortescue said he'd send.'

Another knock came, but Ida resisted the almost instinctive urge to go and open the door. She heard Prudence's footsteps thump down the staircase.

There was a large mirror over the fireplace in the parlour. As Watson wheeled Holmes out into the corridor, Ida stole one last look at her disguise. Several ringlets of her newly vivid hair had come loose and dangled on either side of her face, making her skin look all the more pale in contrast. Her mouth seemed smaller, more pinched than usual…she realised she was unconsciously chewing at the inside of her cheeks. The trepidation apparent in her eyes, even though they were half obscured by the spectacles, would surely give her away the second they entered the house…

'Miss Dawkins?'

came a slightly irritated voice from the hallway. So that was to be her made-up name. She would have preferred something a little more exotic, but never mind. Taking a deep breath, Ida left her reflection and made for the door.

….

The journey to the Manor passed without event, Holmes staring fixedly in front of him and Watson admiring the view of the lake out of the carriage window. Ida was so nervous that the mere task of sitting still seemed to have become something requiring thought. Her limbs seemed to have become huge, ungainly things that threatened to go out of control. She clasped her hands firmly in her lap and counted her breaths in and out.

Gravel crunched beneath the carriage wheels, and it juddered to a halt. The door was opened from the outside, and Ida's heart jumped into her throat as she saw Eddie the footman peering in.

'Miss,' he proffered his hand, to help her out. Ida gulped. He did not seem to have recognised her then...but surely her agitation was obvious…

'Thank you,' she heard herself saying, in a voice that so surprised herself with its calm tone that for a moment it seemed as though it must belong to somebody else. But no, this was her hand that firmly clasped Eddie's, this was her stepping out of the carriage and looking down her nose at him slightly as he respectfully stepped backwards, without meeting her eye. She was Ida…Dawkins…private secretary to Dr Smythe. And if she believed it, the rest of the world was a piece of cake.

Eddie and another footman whom Ida had not seen before helped Watson to manoeuvre Holmes out of the carriage and into the wheelchair again. Then Watson wheeled Holmes towards the front door. Ida followed.

……………

Ida relaxed a little when Lord William greeted them at the door without either of his sons present

'Dr Smythe,' he said, 'thankyou so much for coming…'

'…the pleasure is mine,' replied Holmes, 'and I hope you don't mind me bringing along my secretary, Miss Dawkins. As I mentioned earlier, I am in the process of writing a small treatise and I was hoping I might be able to make a few notes regarding some of your collection? You would be acknowledged, naturally…'

'…of course, of course! Miss Dawkins is most welcome. And you will be pleased to hear that another friend of mine has arrived…'

'Really?'

'Yes, Professor Hayes,' Ida noticed Watson tense slightly at the name. She hoped that her own recognition of it had not been as obvious. Lord Fortescue continued:

'The Professor is a renowned expert in the field of palaeontology…He has some very interesting, if somewhat radical new theories…there's not all that much evidence, but he claims that he's found some new specimens which he hopes to present soon…'

'…oh, I've heard of him, believe me…I look forward to meeting him' said Holmes, the earnest voice of Dr Smythe betraying nothing of his reaction, or whether he had expected this.

'Do come through into my study,' said Lord William.

……….

Ida had been priding herself on her performance thus far, but the sight that met her eyes on entering the study needed all her self control. Not only was there a white haired, bulging eyed, slightly portly man poring over a display cabinet in the centre of the room, whom she could only suppose was Professor Hayes, but Clarence was seated on the windowsill. And _his_ eyes were fixed firmly on a spot by the fireplace, where a thin, pasty faced youth stood…

_Grimshaw_! But that meant…Ida scanned the rest of the room, and saw, seated on a leather armchair in the corner, Horace.

'My, this is quite the party,' came the reedy voice of Dr Smythe.

The door of the study clicked shut behind them. Lord Fortescue walked over to Professor Hayes,

'I say, Peter, here's the fellow I was talking about, Dr Smythe…'

Ida was aware of movement behind her, as Watson wheeled the chair into a slightly different position. She glanced behind her, and saw that the exit was now completely barred. Another scan around the room revealed that there were no other doors. The window provided the only other means of escape, and, for the time being, Clarence was its unwitting guardian.

'Doctor,' Lord Fortescue addressed Holmes, 'I think that this specimen would interest you…'

'…No,' said Holmes, in his normal voice, 'I have seen all the specimens I need to.'

Lord Fortescue stared at Holmes in shock,

'Dr Smythe?' he said,

'No. Apologies for the deception, Lord Fortescue, but as you shall see…'

Holmes reached up and removed the false beard and wig, whilst the occupants of the room looked on, aghast. 'Doctor Smythe was a mere fabrication…'


	13. Chapter Thirteen

'…Sir! This is most irregular…' exploded Lord Fortescue angrily. At the same moment Horace leapt to his feet

'There's something I must see to, Father,' he announced, making for the door. Watson moved to block his path

'Let me through!' he exclaimed, becoming more agitated,

'What is the meaning of this?' shouted Lord Fortescue

Horace stopped trying to shove his way past Watson, waited for a second, then made a dash for the window.

'Stop him, Clarence!' Ida shouted, forgetting her role, and running after him. Clarence gaped in shock. Horace reached the window, but Clarence grabbed him and the brothers fell against the sill, grappling with each other. There was the sound of smashing glass as someone's arm hit one of the panes. Ida reached the struggle and seized Horace from behind. He kicked backwards, catching her knee painfully, but she hung on.

'Well done, Miss Greene,' she heard Dr Watson call out, and she suddenly felt Horace stop struggling. Slowly letting go, she stood back to see that Watson and Clarence had managed to twist Horace's arms behind his back

'What do you think you are doing with my son?' bellowed Lord Fortescue, tugging the bell rope for all he was worth, 'By God, sir, you are going to pay for this…'

'William,' said Professor Hayes, 'calm down,'

'Calm down! You tell me to calm down!'

'William, this man is _Sherlock Holmes,_' there was urgency in the Professor's voice, 'I'm sure this misunderstanding…hmm…can be cleared up without…too much publicity?'

'Yes,' said Holmes, 'that would be what you would prefer, wouldn't it, Professor?'

Ida saw that Professor Hayes and Holmes were staring at each other, hostility apparent in the professor's eyes, whilst Holmes' were impenetrable.

'Well,' blustered Lord Fortescue, letting go the bell rope 'I suppose we could hear what he has to say…but unhand my son this instant!'

'Only if he makes no further attempt to escape.'

'To escape! Sir, this is my house in which you insult me and my family, and…'

'Father,' said Clarence, desperately, 'I think Horace has been…'

'…shut up, Clarence,' spat Horace

'Horace?' said Lord Fortescue, 'You aren't trying to escape, are you?'

'Of course not! If this oaf would just let go of me, then…'

Watson slowly released his grip on Horace's arm, and Horace shook himself free from Clarence. He slowly moved to the centre of the room, and seated himself on a chair placed near to the fossil cabinet.

'See. I'm not trying to _escape_…'

'Ida?' someone whispered, urgently, 'is that you?'

Ida turned, to see Clarence staring at her,

'What happened this morning? I came back and you were gone…and…have you done something different with your hair…?'

'Not now, Clarence,' she hissed.

'Lord Fortescue,' Holmes addressed his host, 'I regret to inform you that you have, unwittingly I think, been part of a criminal plot that threatens your good name in the field of fossil hunting…'

'Don't listen to him, father!' interrupted Horace, 'I…'

'…a plot,' continued Holmes, 'which has involved theft, forgery and assault. But the story begins with Professor Hayes, here.'

'I don't think…' said Professor Hayes,

'…you came to me, Professor, with a problem… Some valuable fossil specimens had gone missing from the university collection. You enlisted my help to find the culprit…'

'…I don't deny that,' said Professor Hayes,

'I suspected Grimshaw from early on…'

'Mortimer!' cried Lord Fortescue, staring at Grimshaw,

'a student seemed the most likely culprit,' continued Holmes, 'I discovered Grimshaw had been having some…financial difficulties… and I also discovered his friendship with Horace, and hence his connection to you…'

Lord Fortescues' eyes narrowed,

'…Wait a minute…Mortimer….those fossils…' he said, slowly,'

'Yes,' said Holmes, 'those fossils that Grimshaw sold you were from the university collection.'

'Mortimer!' cried Lord Fortescue, 'how could you! You've been like a member of the family to me!'

Grimshaw just stared, wide eyed at Horace

'Answer me, man!' shouted Lord Fortescue,

'I…' began Grimshaw hesitantly,

'Quiet!' snapped Horace,

'If I may continue,' said Holmes,

'Please do,' exclaimed Lord Fortescue, looking at Grimshaw with disgust

'So, I suspected Grimshaw…But the Professor was insistent that the specimens must have disappeared between 2pm and 4pm on the day before he came to see me, because he had been studying those particular specimens in the morning, and he discovered the theft when he returned after a late lunch. And Grimshaw claimed that he had been playing in a cricket match for that whole time…'

'…but you don't play cricket, Mortimer!' exclaimed Lord Fortescue, 'you can't catch a ball to save your life!'

'Very true,' said Holmes, 'and a few enquiries soon made it clear that the alibi was worthless…our Mr Grimshaw here is really a most ineffectual criminal.'

'So, have you come here to reclaim the stolen fossils?' said Lord Fortescue, 'is that what all this has been about? Because I can assure you, I had absolutely no idea…'

'I'm afraid that it is not that simple,' said Holmes, 'the trivial matter of the theft would hardly have been worth my getting out of bed, frankly, but there were…complications. For you see, the fossils reappeared.'

'Reappeared?'

'The fossils reappeared in the collection. But they were not the genuine article. These were ingenious replicas, in plaster and laquer…'

Lord Fortescue's eyes widened in shock, and he strode over to a cabinet in the corner of the room. Wrenching it open, he peered closely at the rows of fossils stored in carefully coded rows…

'They're missing!' he exclaimed, 'Clarence! What have you done?'

'Horace asked me to send him the copies!' said Clarence, desperately, 'he said he was going to show them to an art tutor…'

'Is this true, Horace?' Lord Fortescue said, rounding on his older son,

'I don't doubt that it is true,' interjected Holmes, 'I fear that Clarence has been rather naïve, but he is as much of a victim in this affair as you are, sir.'

'But…Horace?' said Lord Fortescue, hoarsely, realisation beginning to dawn in his face. 'Please, go on…'

'I quickly recognised the forgeries for what they were. There is a certain scent to plaster which, to the educated nose, betrays even the most realistic representation… Grimshaw confessed to the theft, and claimed that he had made the forgeries himself. I doubted that, and also confided to the Professor my suspicions that Horace might be involved. I said that I wished to investigate further, but Professor Hayes was most insistent that the matter was closed. He said that Grimshaw had seen the error of his ways, and that he had promised he would come here, to your house, explain the situation, make amends and retrieve the stolen items…'

'But he hasn't said a word!' exclaimed Lord Fortescue, 'Mortimer! You've been here for days and you never said a word…'

'Mortimer!' said Professor Hayes, 'I'm very disappointed!'

'Professor,' said Holmes, coolly, 'you can drop the act. I know perfectly well that you sent Grimshaw here with a very different purpose. I suspected that things were not quite as neatly tied up as you would have had us believe, and so my friend Doctor Watson and I decided that we might also pay a visit to this charming part of the world. When, on the very day we arrived, I saw Grimshaw in town, looking decidedly uncomfortable, I made sure that he spotted me, and saw where I was staying, in case he had need to come and see me.'

Holmes paused here, and shifted slightly in the wheelchair, as though his leg was uncomfortable.

'And?' said Lord Fortescue, 'what happened?'

'I don't think we need to listen to this nonsense,' interrupted Professor Hayes, 'and I've just remembered that I left something important in my room…'

'…nobody leaves,' said Holmes, softly. 'And now I think it is time for Grimshaw to take up the story.'

He looked across at the young man, still standing awkwardly by the fireplace, and raised his eyebrows expectantly. Grimshaw coughed, looked at Horace, then seemed to shake himself. He took a deep breath, sighed, then began

'Professor Hayes said…' he paused, looked at the Professor nervously, then looked at Holmes

'It will go much better for you if you tell the truth,' said Dr Watson

'Professor Hayes said that no one need know about the…incident…if I would run a small errand for him. He said that Lord Fortescue could keep the fossils, because he was going to donate some new specimens to the museum instead. Some exciting new specimens, some fossilized bones…'

'Bones!' said Lord Fortescue in surprise, 'I don't have any bones! Bones are rather your area of interest, aren't they Peter?' he addressed the Professor, 'in fact, your pet theory is all about bones…' his voice trailed off, thoughtfully.

'I travelled up here from Oxford with Horace. Horace…Horace knew all about what I had done. He even found the fake ammonites for me in the first place. I hadn't told him what Professor Hayes had asked me to do, but he seemed to know anyway, and when we reached his house, he gave me the fossils for the museum, all ready in boxes and everything. I was to stay here for a few days, then return to Oxford with the new fossils… But… I became suspicious. Horace had given me false specimens once before, and I didn't want to return to the Professor with more forgeries. So when I saw Mr Holmes in town, I thought I'd ask his advice on whether the bones were genuine…'

'But before I actually examined the fossils,' said Holmes, 'Grimshaw returned to my boarding house. Horace had discovered the fossils' absence and wanted to know what he had done with them.'

'He was frighteningly insistent,' interjected Grimshaw, 'and I feared for my safety. I rushed to see Holmes, and enlist his help. I went by the country roads, and even slipped over and cut my head,' he indicated the half healed scratch.

Holmes took up the storytelling once more

'I intended to go back with Grimshaw to the Fortescue house, and attempt to find out more about what was going on. We set off, but were set upon by a gang…'

'…at least 10 of them,' said Grimshaw.

'More like 6, I think,' said Holmes, 'but armed with sticks. We were taken by surprise in the darkness. I was knocked unconscious, and…'

'…and Horace took me back to this house, where he has kept me under his control for these past two days!' finished Grimshaw, 'Lord Fortescue, I am truly sorry for any wrong I have done you, but your son has threatened me, locked me up, I think he even drugged me…'

'Horace!' said Lord Fortescue, in tones of quiet dismay, 'is any of this true?'

'Father, I don't know how you can listen to these accusations…'

Holmes drew one of the boxes marked 'university museum' that Ida remembered from his bedroom out of his coat.

'This is one of the boxes Grimshaw gave me,' he said. 'I examined the fossils, and found them to be forgeries. Ingenious forgeries,' he said, with a glance at Clarence, 'but forgeries nonetheless…'

'I had no idea that this was what Horace wanted them for!' protested Clarence, 'he said that the art tutor had been impressed with the ammonites and wanted to see if I could do something more challenging, without a subject to work from…'

'Alright,' said Horace, slamming his hand, palm down, onto the cabinet, making the glass rattle. Lord Fortescue twitched visibly

'Alright, so it's true.'

'All of it?' said his father in dismay, 'you set upon Mortimer and this gentleman here like a common thug? You and your no good friends no doubt…Horace, I knew you had a temper but…'

'But you know who _paid_ me to get Clarence to make those fossils?' interrupted Horace, 'I didn't just do this for the hell of it…'

'I know,' said Holmes

'You did this for money?' said Lord Fortescue in exasperation, 'you, who will inherit a vast fortune? Have you built up some sort of dreadful gambling debt…?'

'There is more than one kind of payment, I fancy,' said Holmes, 'eh, Professor?'

Professor Hayes had been gradually turning an ugly shade of purple throughout the revelations.

'I have no idea what you mean, sir…'

'Oh,' said Holmes, 'I think you do. I imagine that you promised Horace you would see to it that he got a first class degree, whatever his academic performance, if he would obtain for you some specimens that prove your controversial theories. You gave him the specifications for the characteristics the bones were to have, so that they could support your theories, and you asked him to arrange the forgery…'

'Oh, this is ridiculous!' exclaimed the Professor, 'I don't have to listen to these baseless accusations!'

'I think that we've all heard enough here to know there's nothing _baseless_ about them… But…It is up to Grimshaw whether he wishes to press charges for assault and kidnapping. Your academic reputation, Professor, is in the hands of your friend Lord Fortescue here. I am just about ready to wash my hands of this whole affair.'

Ida looked around the room, at the assembled faces – shock and dismay written all over Lord Fortescue's, bewildered relief mingled with trepidation on Grimshaw's, fear and anger on Professor Hayes'. Horace had sunk his head into his hands, and exuded bitterness. She scowled at his back, remembering all he had put Grimshaw through. At last her gaze came to rest upon Clarence.

'Ida…' he said, brokenly, 'I'm so confused…'

Ida looked sympathetically at his anguished expression, then noticed something

'Clarence, your arm!'

Clarence looked down, in surprise, to see the patch of red spreading through the linen of his shirt,

'I must have cut it on the glass from the window…' he said, absent mindedly, as his eyes rolled up in their sockets and he fainted dead away.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

Ida examined her face in the mirror of the public lavatory in Keswick station. She wet her fingers and tried to smooth back the unruly strands of hair that had never been very easy to tame, and ever since her attempt at curling her hair had become nigh impossible to control.

She looked as she felt – exhausted. The adrenaline rush of the previous evening's - in fact, the whole of the last few days' - excitement had worn off, leaving her completely drained.

After Dr Watson had seen to Clarence's cut, and Holmes, Watson and Ida had returned to the boarding house, Ida had told Prudence she would be leaving, for good, the next morning. Prudence had tried to insist on her staying out the week, but had dissolved into tears once more, and this time Ida had joined her.

They had finally managed to forgive and forget, and Ida was glad that they were friends again, but the loss of her job was still a reality, and she had decided to try her luck in a different town. So, here she was, at 8 o clock in the morning, a small canvass bag at her feet containing all her worldly goods, and a couple of shillings in her purse, waiting at Keswick station for inspiration.

Leaving the lavatory, Ida went over to the departures board, to see if any of the names caught her fancy, when she heard a familiar voice.

'Careful, Watson!'

'Carrying 3 suitcases at once is no mean trick, Holmes…'

'…well, I do apologise for my incapacity, but…'

'…you know, we could have waited a few weeks, had a proper holiday for once…'

'…London, Watson, _London_…just think of her…'

'Yes, the fog, the soot, the street urchins, I can't wait…'

Ida turned around, slowly, to see Holmes making his way painstakingly across the concourse on a pair of crutches, with Watson puffing behind him under the weight of 3 suitcases and a large cardboard box he was trying to balance… She saw as the box tilted, slipped, and slid towards the ground…

…it was the work of a moment to dart over and pick it up.

'Here you go, Doctor,' she said

'Thankyou…Miss Greene! I didn't expect to see you here!'

'Well,' said Ida, 'I'm moving on, can't work in a boarding house forever…'

'Do you have another position, then?'

'Not…as such…' Ida admitted, 'but…I'll be fine, I'm sure.'

She became aware of Holmes's eyes boring into her. She turned round, and looked at him, daring him to comment on spur of the minute thoughtless actions and their consequences. But he said nothing of the kind. Instead,

'Watson, we mustn't miss our train.' He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket.

'Miss Greene,' he said, 'you were of assistance in this investigation, so I think it only fair that I pay you for your time.'

'Oh, I couldn't possibly…'

He drew out an envelope, and handed it to her.

'As you can see, I intended to post this to you in any case…'

Ida took the envelope and saw that it was indeed addressed to her.

Holmes turned away

'Watson,' he said, 'come on…'

'Thankyou,' said Ida, simply, to his retreating back.

… … …

Ida went and sat on a bench near the parcel weighing machine, and tore open the envelope. There was a note inside, in a firm sloping copperplate

'Miss Greene, please find enclosed wages for the investigative work you carried out at my behest, and compensation for any inconvenience suffered.'

Ida shook the envelope again, and out fluttered 5 one pound notes. She clutched at them in disbelief. 5 pounds! This was nothing short of miraculous.

She sat on the bench for a good ten minutes, considering the new options which had opened up. The faintest glimmerings of an idea were forming in the back of her mind. She hardly dared to give them shape, in case gazing at them in the harsh light of reality made them crumble, but…

Ida looked again at the money in her palm, and counted once more. Then she walked, casually, over to the ticket office.

'Tell me,' she said, 'how much is a single to London?'


	15. Epilogue

**_Private Detective for hire_**

**Utmost confidentiality guaranteed**

Contact:

_I Greene_

_52a Billhurst Street_

_London_

Very reasonable rates

Ida screwed up the newspaper sheet and threw it towards the fireplace grate. She missed by about 6 inches, but felt too lethargic to get up.

3 weeks. It had been 3 bloody weeks since she placed that advertisement, using up a significant amount of the money Holmes had given her, and nothing. Wasn't London supposed to be the capital of crime?

'Miss Greene!'

Her landlady's piercing voice echoed up the wooden staircase. Ida groaned, no doubt this was going to be yet another request for the rent she could no longer afford.

'Miss Greene, a visitor for you!'

A visitor! At last! Ida sprang to her feet

'Send them up, please!' she called, clearing a space on the table she used as a desk by gathering up an armful of papers and stuffing them into a drawer. She hurriedly drew the curtain which separated off the corner of the room where she slept from the main part which was to serve as an office, and tried to tidy her appearance, just as there was a hesitant knock at the door.

'Come in!' called Ida

The door opened, to reveal a familiar face.

'Clarence,' said Ida, flatly.

'Ida!'

He stepped into the room, and looked around, a grin permanently fixed on his features,

'I hardly dared hope it was actually you, when I saw the advertisement…But I came anyway…'

'…do you need to hire an investigator, Clarence?' said Ida, hopefully,

'Oh, heavens no! You've cleared up the mysteries that were plaguing my family already…'

'…Well, I think that was Mr Holmes…' interjected Ida, but he wasn't listening.

'You're probably wondering what I'm doing in London…'

'…er…yes…'

'I've been accepted by the Slade. I'm going to study fine art.'

'Gosh. Congratulations.'

'So I'll be living in London.'

'Right, of course.'

Clarence seemed to want to say something else, but kept hesitating. Ida stared at a damp patch on the wall behind him, and…

…there was the sound of footsteps pounding up the stairs, and her landlady's voice calling, 'wait, madam! She already has someone in there…'

Someone hammered at the door, and Ida could hear the sound of muffled sobs.

'Sorry, Clarence,' she murmured distractedly, moving to the door.

A middle aged woman clutching a velvet bag almost fell on top of her as she swung the door open

'Please!' choked the visitor, 'you have to help me!'

'I'll do my best, managed Ida, trying to take her arm

'Mr Greene,' said the strange woman, addressing Clarence, 'I have been most woefully wronged…'

'Oh,' said Clarence, I'm not Mr Greene, I'm Mr Fortescue. This is Miss Greene, here.'

The woman stared from one to the other, blinking fat tears from her eyes in confusion.

'I want Mr I Greene, the private investigator…'

'I am _Miss_ Ida Greene, the private investigator,' said Ida firmly. 'Now, Mrs…'

'…Locke, Miss…'

'Mrs Locke, if you would care to sit down, and explain what's happened, I'll see what I can do…' Ida sent a glare across to Clarence, indicating that he should go, but he had perched himself on the edge of her desk and was staring with undisguised interest at the proceedings.

Ida helped Mrs Locke into the one armchair she possessed, and took up a seat herself behind the desk. She carefully unscrewed the cap of her pen and took out the notebook that Holmes had given her when she played the part of the secretary.

'Now, Mrs Locke,' she said, 'please begin at the beginning…'

THE END

* * *

Well, that's it guys…I hope that you've enjoyed reading this (I've certainly enjoyed writing it)...I hope I managed to pull off the final few chapters without it getting too insane... Thankyou so much for all the reviews, and hopefully I'll be around here again some time in the future… Now that I'm done with this I can give my attention to the excellent other stories in this fandom! 


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